THE 


ANGEL  IN  THE  HOUSE 


THE  BETROTHAL 


By  COVENTRY  PATMORE.  V 


Par  la  grace  infinie,  Dieu  les  mist  au  monde  ensemble. 

Rousier  des  Dames . 


•jpT?  5142. 
. \ f 


NEW  YORK 

E.  P.  DUTTON  AND  COMPANY 
713  Broadway 
1876 


G©LL*«E  LIBRARY 
QM jitfTR  ¥T  MILL,  MASS, 


THE  WRITER  OF  THIS  POEM 

Inscribes  it 


TO  HIS  DAUGHTER  EMILY. 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

Prologue n 

I.  The  Cathedral  Close 19 

The  Accompaniments. 

1.  Love’s  Reality 21 

2.  Love’s  Immortality 22 

3.  The  Poet’s  Confidence 23 

4.  The  Poet’s  Humility 24 

5.  The  Sentences.., 25 

Idyl  I.  The  Cathedral  Close 27 

II.  Mary  and  Mildred 35 

The  Accompaniments. 

. 1.  The  Paragon 37 

2.  The  Sentences 43 

Idyl  II.  Mary  and  Mildred 45 

III.  Honoria 51 

The  Accompaniments. 

1.  The  Lover 53 

2.  The  Sentences 58 

Idyl  III.  Honoria  59 


Contents. 


viii 

Page 

IV.  The  Morning  Call 65 

The  Accompaniments. 

1.  The  Rose  of  the  World 67 

2.  The  Tribute 70 

3.  The  Sentences 71 

Idyl  IV.  The  Morning  Call 73 

V.  The  Violets 77 

The  Accompaniments. 

1.  The  Parallel 79 

2.  The  Sentences 84 

Idyl  V.  The  Violets 85 

VI.  The  Dean 91 

The  Accompaniments. 

r.  Frost  in  Harvest 93 

2.  Love  Justified 95 

3.  Perfect  Love  rare 9 6 

4.  The  Sentences 98 

Idyl  VI.  The  Dean 99 

VII.  ^Etna  and  the  Moon 105 

The  Accompaniments. 

r.  The  Queen 107 

2.  The  Sentences no 

Idyl  VII.  JEtna  and  the  Moon in 

VIII.  Sarum  Plain 117 

The  Accompaniments. 


Contents, 


IX 


Page 

z.  Present  Good  contemned 119 

2.  The  Revelation 120 

3.  Love  in  Idleness 121 

4.  The  Tempest 122 

5.  Love  in  Tears 123 

6.  The  Sentences 124 

Idyl  VIII.  Sarum  Plain • 125 

IX.  The  Railway 131 

The  Accompaniments. 

1.  The  Miscreant 133 

2.  The  Wife’s  Tragedy 135 

3.  The  Sentences 137 

Idyl  IX.  The  Railway 139 

X.  Going  to  Church 145 

The  Accompaniments. 

1.  The  Gracious  Chivalry 147 

2.  Love  Liberal 150 

3.  The  Sentences 153 

Idyl  X.  Going  to  Church 155 

XI.  The  Ball 163 

The  Accompaniments. 

1.  The  Daughter  of  Eve 165 

2.  The  Sentences 169 

Idyl  XI.  The  Ball 17 1 


x Contents. 

Page 


XII.  The  Abdication 177 

The  Accompaniments. 

1.  The  Chace 179 

2.  The  Sentences 185 

Idyl  XII.  The  Abdication 187 

The  Epilogue 19  5 


PROLOGUE. 


THE  PROLOGUE. 


'll  /TINE  is  no  winged  horse  to  gain 
Xt  A « The  region  of  the  spheral  chime 
“ He  does  but  drag  a rumbling  wain, 
“Cheer’d  by  the  silver  bells  of  rhyme  , 
“And  if,  at  Fame’s  bewitching  note, 

“ My  homely  Pegasus  pricks  an  ear, 

“ The  world’s  cart-collar  hugs  his  throat, 

“ And  he’s  too  wise  to  kick  or  rear.” 
Thus  ever  answer’d  Vaughan  his  wife. 
Who,  more  than  he,  desired  his  fame; 
But  secretly  his  thoughts  were  rife 
How  for  her  sake  to  earn  a name. 


*4 


The  Prologue. 


With  College  laurels  three  times  crown’d, 
And  other  annual  honours  won, 

If  he  but  chose  to  be  renown’d, 

He  might,  he  had  little  doubt,  she  none  : 
And,  in  a loftier  phrase,  he  talk’d 
With  her  upon  their  Wedding-Day, 

While  thro’  the  new-mown  meads  they  walk’d, 
Their  children  shouting  by  the  way  : 

“ Not  careless  of  the  gift  of  song, 

“Nor  out  of  love  with  noble  fame, 

“ I,  meditating  much  and  long 

“ What  I should  sing,  how  win  a name, 

“ Considering  well  what  theme  unsung, 

“ What  reason  worth  the  cost  of  rhyme, 

“ Remains  to  loose  the  Poet’s  tongue 
“In  these  last  days,  the  dregs  of  time, 

“ Learn  that  to  me,  though  born  so  late, 

“ There  does,  beyond  desert,  befall 
“ (May  my  great  fortune  make  me  great !) 

“ The  first  of  themes  sung  last  of  all. 


The  Prologue.  15 

“ In  green  and  undiscover’d  ground, 

“Yet  near  where  many  others  sing, 

“ I have  the  very  well-head  found 

“ Whence  gushes  the  Pierian  Spring.” 
Then  she  : “ What  is  it,  Dear?  The  Life 
“ Of  Arthur,  or  Jerusalem’s  Fall  ? ” 
“Neither:  your  gentle  self,  my  wife, 

“ Yourself,  and  love  that’s  all  in  all. 

“ And  if  I faithfully  proclaim 

“ Of  these  the  exceeding  worthiness, 

“ Surely,  the  sweetest  wreath  of  Fame 
“ Shall,  to  your  hope,  my  brows  caress ; 
“And  if,  by  virtue  of  my  choice 

“ Of  the  most  bosom-touching  theme 
“ That  ever  tuned  a poet’s  voice, 

“ I live,  as  now  I dare  to  dream, 

“ To  be  delight  to  future  days, 

“ And  into  silence  only  cease 
“ With  those  great  Bards  who  shared  their  bays 
“ With  Laura  and  with  Beatrice, 


i6 


The  Prologue. 


“ Imagine,  Love,  how  learned  men 
“ Will  deep-conceived  devices  find, 

“ Beyond  the  purpose  and  the  ken 
“ Of  the  old  Poet’s  simple  mind ! 

“ You,  Sweet,  his  Mistress,  Wife,  and  Muse, 
“ Were  you  for  mortal  Woman  meant? 

“Your  praises  give  a hundred  clues 
“To  mythological  intent! 

“ And,  severing  thus  the  truth  from  trope, 

“ In  you  the  Commentators  see, 

“ Some  Faith,  some  Charity,  some  Hope, 

“ Some,  wiser,  think  you  all  the  three. 

“ I press  your  arm  ! These  are  the  meads 
“In  which  we  pass  our  peaceful  days; 

“ There  Avon  runs,  now  hid  with  reeds, 

“ Now  brightly  brimming  pebbly  bays  ; 

“ Those  are  our  children’s  songs  that  come 
“ With  bells  and  bleatings  of  the  sheep  ; 

“ And  there,  in  yonder  happy  home, 

“We  thrive  on  mortal  food  and  sleep.” 


The  Prologue. 


17 


She  laugh’d.  How  proud  she  always  was 
To  see  how  proud  he  was  of  her  ! 

Then,  arguing  high  artistic  laws, 

Long  did  they  o’er  the  plan  confer. 

’Twas  fix’d,  with  much  on  both  sides  said, 
The  Song  should  have  no  incidents, 

They  are  so  dull,  and  pall,  twice  read : 

Its  scope  should  be  the  heart’s  events : 
Their  Salisbury,  for  the  verse  unfit. 

They  settled  last  should  Sarum  be ; 

And,  not  to  wake  their  neighbour’s  wit, 

He  Felix,  and  Honoria  she. 

His  purpose  with  performance  crown’d, 

To  her,  kind  critic,  he  rehears’d, 

When  next  their  Wedding-Day  came  round, 
His  leisure’s  labour,  “ Book  the  First.” 


2 


* 


I. 


THE  CATHEDRAL  CLOSE. 


. 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 

Love's  Reality. 

T WALK,  I trust,  with  open  eyes: 

**-  I’ve  travell’d  half  my  worldly  course ; 
And  in  the  way  behind  me  lies 
Much  vanity  and  some  remorse ; 

I’ve  lived  to  feel  how  pride  may  part 
Spirits  tho’  match’d  like  hand  and  glove; 
I’ve  blush’d  for  love’s  abode,  the  heart, 

But  have  not  disbelieved  in  love  ; 

And  love  is  my  reward ; for  now, 

When  most  of  deadening  time  complain, 
The  myrtle  is  green  upon  my  brow, 

Its  odour  sweet  within  my  brain. 


22 


The  Accompaniments. 


II. 

Love’s  Immortality . 

T T OW  vilely  ’twere  to  misdeserve 
A The  Poet’s  gift  of  perfect  speech, 
In  song  to  explore,  with  trembling  nerve. 
The  limit  of  its  utmost  reach, 

Only  to  sound  the  unworthy  praise 
Of  what  to-morrow  shall  not  be ; 

So  mocking  with  immortal  bays 
The  cross-bones  of  mortality ! 

I do  not  thus.  My  faith  is  fast 
That  all  the  loveliness  I sing 
Is  made  to  outsleep  the  mortal  blast, 

And  blossom  in  a better  Spring. 

My  creed  declares  the  ceaseless  pact 
Of  body  and  spirit,  soul  and  sense ; 

Nor  can  my  faith  accept  the  fact, 

And  fly  the  various  consequence. 


The  Accompaniments. 


23 


III. 

The  Poet’s  Confidence. 

? | ''HE  richest  realm  of  all  the  Earth 
Is  counted  still  a heathen  Land : 

Lo,  I,  like  Joshua,  now  go  forth 
To  give  it  into  Israel’s  hand. 

I’ve  girt  myself  with  thought  and  prayer, 
And  am  endow’d  with  strength,  like  him, 
Beyond  my  own,  and  will  not  fear 
The  false  and  foolish  Anakim ; 

Nor  will  I hearken  blame  or  praise; 

For  so  should  I dishonour  do 
To  that  sweet  Power  by  which  these  Lays 
Alone  are  lovely,  good  and  true; 

Nor  credence  to  the  world’s  cries  give, 
Which  ever  preach  and  still  prevent 
Pure  passion’s  high  prerogative 
To  make  not  follow  precedent. 


24 


The  Accompaniments. 


IV. 

The  Poet’s  Humility. 

\T  OR  verse,  nor  art,  nor  plot,  nor  plan, 

^ Nor  aught  of  mine  here’s  worth  a toy 
Quit  praise  and  blame,  and,  if  you  can, 

Do,  Critic,  for  the  nonce,  enjoy. 

Moving  but  as  the  feelings  move, 

I run,  or  loiter  with  delight, 

Or  stop  to  mark  where  gentle  Love 

Persuades  the  soul  from  height  to  height 
Yet,  know,  that,  though  my  words  are  gay 
As  David’s  dance,  which  Michal  scorn’d, 
If  rightly  you  peruse  the  Lay, 

You  shall  be  sweetly  help’d  and  warn’d. 


The  Accompaniments. 


2S 


The  Sentences. 

l. 

LOVE,  kiss’d  by  Wisdom,  wakes  twice 
Love, 

And  Wisdom  is,  through  loving,  wise : 
Let  Dove  and  Snake,  and  Snake  and  Dove, 
This  Wisdom’s  be,  that  Love’s  device. 


2. 

’Tis  truth  (although  this  truth’s  a star 
Too  deep-enskied  for  all  to  see), 
As  Poets  of  grammar,  Lovers  are 
The  well-heads  of  morality. 


26 


The  Accompaniments. 


3* 

“Keep  measure  in  love?”  More  light  befall 
Thy  sanctity,  and  make  it  less ! 

Be  sure  I will  not  love  at  all 

Where  I may  not  love  with  excess. 


mjumtws  MILL,  M,iS60 


THE  BETROTHAL. 


IDYL  I. 

THE  CATHEDRAL  CLOSE. 


1. 

CE  more  I came  to  Sarum  Close, 
^ With  joy  half  memory  half  desire, 
And  breathed  the  sunny  wind  that  rose 
And  blew  the  shadows  o’er  the  Spire, 

And  toss’d  the  lilac’s  scented  plumes, 

And  sway’d  the  chestnut’s  thousand  cones, 


28 


The  Cathedral  Close . 


And  fill’d  my  nostrils  with  perfumes, 

And  shaped  the  clouds  in  waifs  and  zones, 
And  wafted  down  the  serious  strain 
Of  Sarum  bells,  when,  true  to  time, 

I reach’d  the  Dean’s  with  heart  and  brain 
That  trembled  to  the  trembling  chime. 


2. 

’Twas  half  my  home  six  years  ago  : 

The  six  years  had  not  alter’d  it : 
Red-brick  and  ashlar,  long  and  low, 

With  dormers  and  with  oriels  lit; 
Geranium,  lychnis,  rose  array’d 

The  windows,  all  wide  open  thrown ; 
And  some  one  in  the  Study  play’d 

The  Wedding- March  of  Mendelssohn. 
And  there  it  was  I last  took  leave : 

’Twas  Christmas  : I remember’d  now 
The  cruel  girls,  who  feign’d  to  grieve, 
Took  all  the  Christmas  down ; ^nd  how 


The  Cathedral  Close. 


2Q 


The  laurel  into  blazes  woke 

The  fire,  lighting  the  large,  low  room, 

A dim,  rich  lustre  of  old  oak 

And  crimson  velvet’s  glowing  gloom. 

3- 

No  change  had  touch’d  my  Guardian.  Kind, 
By  widowhood  more  than  winters  bent, 
And  settled  in  a cheerful  mind, 

As  still  foreboding  heaven’s  content. 

Well  might  he  mourn,  from  her  delay’d! 

I yet  recall’d  her  air,  her  walk, 

Her  laugh,  mere  love  ; in  all  she  said, 

I heard  a peaceful  seraph  talk. 

She  seem’d  expressly  sent  below 
To  teach  our  erring  minds  to  see 
The  rhythmic  change  of  time’s  swift  flow 
As  part  of  calm  eternity. 

Her  life,  all  honour,  observed,  with  awe 
Which  cross  experience  could  not  mar, 


3° 


The  Cathedral  Close. 


The  fiction  of  the  Christian  Law 
That  all  men  honourable  are ; 

And  so  her  smile  seem’d  to  confer 
At  once  high  flattery  and  reproof, 

And  self-regard,  inspired  by  her, 

Grew  courtly  in  its  own  behoof. 

The  years,  so  far  from  doing  her  wrong, 
Anointed  her  with  gracious  balm, 

And  made  her  brows  more  and  more  young 
With  wreaths  of  amaranth  and  palm. 

4- 

Was  this  her  eldest,  Honor,  the  prude 
Who  would  not  let  me  pull  the  swing ; 

Who,  kiss’d  at  Christmas,  call’d  me  rude, 
And  sobb’d  alone,  and  would  not  sing  ? 

How  changed ! In  shape  no  more  a Grace, 
But  Venus  : milder  than  the  dove  : 

Her  mother’s  air ; her  Norman  face ; 

Her  large  sweet  eyes,  clear  lakes  of  love. 


The  Cathedral  Close. 


31 

Mary  I knew.  In  former  time 
Ailing  and  pale,  she  thought  that  bliss 
Was  only  for  a better  clime, 

And,  heavenly  overmuch,  scorn’d  this. 

I,  rash  with  theories  of  the  right, 

Which  stretch’d  the  tether  of  my  Creed, 
But  did  not  break  it,  held  delight 
Half  discipline.  We  disagreed. 

She  told  the  Dean  I wanted  grace. 

Now  she  was  kindest  of  the  three, 

And  two  wild  roses  deck’d  her  face. 

And,  what,  was  this  my  Mildred,  she 
To  herself  and  all  a sweet  surprise? 

My  Pet,  who  romp’d  and  roll’d  a hoop  ? 

I wonder’d  where  those  daisy  eyes 

Had  found  their  touching  curve  and  droop. 

5* 

Unmannerly  times  ! But  now  we  sat 
Stranger  than  strangers ; till  I caught 


32 


The  Cathedral  Close. 


And  answer’d  Mildred’s  smile;  and  that 
Spread  to  the  rest,  and  freedom  brought. 
The  Dean  talk’d  little,  but  look’d  on, 

Of  three  such  daughters  justly  vain  : 

What  letters  they  had  had  from  Bonn  ! 

Said  Mildred ; and  I told  again 
How  the  Bonn  boys  besieged  the  house. 

In  fury  metaphysical, 

Because  I’d  proved  their  Doctor  Strauss 
A myth,  and  not  a man  at  all. 

By  Honor  I was  kindly  task’d 

To  explain  my  never  coming  down, 
’Twixt  terms,  from  Cambridge;  Mary  ask’d 
Were  Kant  and  Goethe  yet  outgrown? 
And,  pleased,  we  talk’d  the  old  days  o’er ; 

And,  parting,  I for  pleasure  sigh’d. 

To  be  there  as  a friend,  (since  more,) 

Seem’d  then,  seems  still,  excuse  for  pride ; 
For  something  that^abode  endued 
With  temple-like  repose,  an  air 


The  Cathedral  Close. 


33 


Of  life’s  kind  purposes  pursued 

With  order’d  freedom  sweet  and  fair. 

A tent  pitch’d  in  a world  not  right 
It  seem’d,  whose  inmates,  every  one, 

On  tranquil  faces  bore  the  light 
Of  duties  beautifully  done, 

And  humbly,  though  they  had  few  peers, 
Kept  their  own  laws,  which  seem’d  to  be 
The  fair  sum  of  six  thousand  years’ 
Traditions  of  civility. 


3 


II. 


MARY  AND  MILDRED 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 


'The  Paragon. 


I. 

TT  7"HEN  I behold  the  reckless  brook 
’ ' That  casts  itself  from  some  tall  crag, 
Leaving  its  shade  along  the  rock, 

And  wavering  lower,  like  a flag; 

When  I behold  the  skies  aloft, 

Passing  the  pageantry  of  dreams ; 

The  cloud  whose  bosom,  cygnet-soft, 

A couch  for  nuptial  Juno  seems ; 

When  I behold  the  mountains  bright; 

The  shadowy  vales  with  feeding  herds, 


38  The  Accompaniments. 

I from  my  lyre  the  music  smite, 

Nor  want  for  justly  matching  words : 

All  powers  of  the  sea  and  air ; 

All  interests  of  hill  and  plain, 

I so  can  sing,  in  seasons  fair, 

That  who  hath  felt  may  feel  again ; 

Nay  more,  the  gracious  Muses  bless 
At  times  my  tongue  until  I can, 

With  moving  emphasis,  express 
The  likeness  of  the  perfect  man. 

Elated  oft  by  such  free  songs, 

I think  with  utterance  free  to  raise 
That  Hymn  for  which  the  whole  world  longs, 
A worthy  Hymn  in  Woman’s  praise  ; 

A Hymn  bright-noted  like  a bird’s, 

Arousing  these  song-sleepy  times 
With  rhapsodies  of  perfect  words, 

Ruled  by  returning  kiss  of  rhymes. 

But  when  I look  on  her  and  hope 
To  tell  with  joy  what  1 admire. 


The  Accompaniments. 


39 


My  thoughts  lie  cramp’d  in  narrow  scope, 
Or  in  the  feeble  birth  expire : 

No  skill’d  complexity  of  speech, 

No  heart-felt  phrase  of  tenderest  fau. 

No  liken’d  excellence  can  reach 
Her,  the  most  excellent  of  all, 

The  best  half  of  creation’s  best, 

Its  heart  to  feel,  its  eye  to  see, 

The  crown  and  complex  of  the  rest, 

Its  aim  and  its  epitome. 

Nay,  might  I utter  my  conceit, 

’Twere  after  all  a vulgar  song, 

For  she’s  so  simply,  subtly  sweet, 

My  deepest  rapture  does  her  wrong ; 
My  thoughts,  that,  singing,  lark-like  soar, 
Soaring  perceive  they’ve  still  misprized, 
And  still  forebode  her  beauty  more 
Than  can  perceived  be,  or  surmised. 

Yet  is  it  now  my  chosen  task 

To  sing  her  worth  as  Maid  and  Wife; 


4°  The  Accompaniments. 

And  were  such  post  to  seek  I’d  ask 
To  live  her  Laureate  all  my  life. 

On  wings  of  love  uplifted  free, 

And  by  her  gentleness  made  great. 

I’d  teach  how  noble  man  should  be 
T o match  with  such  a lovely  mate : 

And  then  in  her  would  move  the  more 
The  woman’s  wish  to  be  desired, 

(By  praise  increased,)  till  both  should  soar. 
With  blissful  emulations  fired. 

And,  as  geranium,  pink,  or  rose 

Is  thrice  itself  through  power  of  art, 

So  might  my  happy  skill  disclose 
New  fairness  even  in  her  fair  heart; 

Until  that  churl  should  nowhere  be 

Who  bent  not,  awed,  before  the  throne 
Of  her  affecting  majesty, 

So  meek,  so  much  unlike  our  own ; 

Until  (for  who  may  hope  too  much 

From  her  who  wields  the  powers  of  love!) 


The  Accompaniments. 


4i 


Our  lifted  lives  at  last  should  touch 
That  lofty  goal  to  which  they  move ; 
Until  we  find,  as  darkness  rolls 
Far  off,  and  fleshly  mists  dissolve. 

That  nuptial  contrasts  are  the  poles 

On  which  the  heavenly  spheres  revolve. 


2. 

Me  to  these  happy  notes  of  praise 
Not  only  Woman’s  graces  stir: 

Myself  I never  seem  to  raise 

So  much  as  when  I honour  her : 

For  while  my  songs  so  various  run, 

There  lives  before  my  constant  mind 

An  image,  time-endear’d,  of  one 
Who  is  to  me  all  womankind  : 

Honoria  call  her : She  confers 

Bright  honour  when  she  breathes  my  name : 

Birth’s  blazon’d  patents,  shown  with  her’s, 
Are  falsified  and  put  to  shame ; 


42  The  Accompaniments. 

The  fount  of  honour  is  her  smile ; 

(I  speak  but  as  I feel  and  think,) 
Yet  pride  consumes  me  not  the  while 
I thence,  with  thirst  unsated,  drink : 
For  as  a Queen,  who  may  not  find 
Her  peer  in  all  the  common  Earth., 
Submits  her  meek  and  royal  mind, 
Espousing  one  of  subject  birth, 

All  barter  of  like  gain  above, 

She  raised  me  to  her  noble  place, 
And  made  my  lordship  of  her  love 
The  humbling  gift  of  her  free  grace. 


The  Accompaniments. 


43 


II. 

The  Sentences. 


1. 

“ TVEAUTY’S  but  flesh  and  blood,  Sir:  fye ! 

“ Read  here : immortal  beauty  drink  ! ” 
“ Just  what  I thirst  for  ; ” I reply, 

“ But  what’s  this  ? Rags  and  Printer’s  ink  1 ” 


2. 

He  hates  not  Day  whose  grateful  sight 
Adores  the  Sun’s  reflected  power. 
But  loves  acceptably  the  Light, 
Loving  its  colours  in  the  flower. 


IDYL  II. 


MARY  AND  MILDRED. 

1. 

/^VNE  morning,  after  Church,  I walk’d 
Alone  with  Mary  on  the  Lawn, 

And  felt  myself,  howe’er  we  talk’d, 

T o high  thoughts  delicately  drawn  ; 
And,  when  she,  gladden’d,  found  I knew 
More  of  her  peace  than  she’d  supposed. 
Our  confidences  heavenwards  blew, 
lake  fox-glove  buds,  in  pairs  disclosed. 
Our  former  faults  did  we  confess ; 

Our  ancient  feud  was  more  than  heal’d ; 


46 


Mary  and  Mildred. 


And,  with  the  woman’s  eagerness 
For  amity  full  sign’d  and  seal’d, 

She,  offering  up  for  sacrifice 

Her  heart’s  reserve,  brought  out  to  show 
Some  verses,  made  when  she  was  ice 
To  all  but  Heaven,  six  years  ago  : 

Since  happier  grown.  I took  and  read 
The  neat-writ  lines.  She,  void  of  guile 
Too  late  repenting,  blush’d,  and  said, 

I must  not  think  about  the  style. 


2. 

“ Day  after  day,  until  to-day, 

Imaged  its  fellows  gone  before, 

The  same  dull  task,  the  weary  way, 

The  weakness  pardon’d  o’er  and  o’er, 

The  thwarted  thirst,  too  faintly  felt, 

For  joy’s  well-nigh  forgotten  life, 

The  impatient  heart,  which,  when  I knelt, 
Made  of  my  worship  barren  strife 


Mary  and  Mildred. 


47 


Ah,  whence  to-day’s  so  sweet  release ; 

This  clearance  light  of  all  my  care ; 

This  conscience  free,  this  fertile  peace. 

These  softly  folded  wings  of  prayer  ; 

This  calm  and  more  than  conquering  love, 
With  which  the  tempter  dares  not  cope ; 

This  joy  that  lifts  no  glance  above, 

For  faith  too  sure,  too  sweet  for  hope. 

O,  happy  time,  too  happy  change, 

It  will  not  live,  though  fondly  nurst ! 

Sweet  Day,  which  soon  will  seem  as  strange 
As  now  the  Night  which  seems  dispersed, 

Adieu ! But,  while  my  heart  is  warm’d, 
Some  heavenly  promise  let  me  make : 

Strong  are  those  vows  and  well  perform’d 
Which,  at  such  times,  we  undertake.” 


48 


Mary  and  Mildred. 


3* 

She  from  a rose-tree  shook  the  blight : 

And  well  she  knew  that  I knew  well 
Her  grace  with  silence  to  requite ; 

And  so  we  obey’d  the  luncheon-bell. 

We  laugh’d  at  Mildred’s  laugh,  which  made 
All  melancholy  wrong  : its  mood 
Such  sweet  self-confidence  display’d, 

So  full  a sense  of  present  good. 

Her  very  faults  my  fancy  fired ; 

My  loving  will,  so  thwarted,  grew ; 

And,  bent  on  worship,  I admired 
All  that  she  was,  with  partial  view. 

And  yet,  when,  as  to-day,  her  smile 
Was  prettiest,  I could  not  but  note 
How  Honor,  less  admired,  the  while 
Was  lovelier,  though  from  love  remote. 


Mary  and  Mildred. 


49 


4- 

We  who  are  married,  let  us  own 
A bachelor’s  chief  thought  in  life 
Is,  or  the  fool’s  not  worth  a groan, 

To  win  a woman  for  his  wife. 

I kept  the  custom.  I confess 
I never  went  to  Ball  or  Fete 
Or  Show,  but  in  pursuit  express 
Of  my  predestinated  mate ; 

And  still  to  me,  who  still  kept  sight 
Of  the  sweet  chance  upon  the  cards. 
Each  Beauty  blossom’d  in  the  light 
Of  tender  personal  regards ; 

And,  in  the  records  of  my  breast, 
Red-letter’d,  eminently  fair, 

Stood  sixteen,  who,  beyond  the  rest, 
Up  to  that  time  had  been  my  care  : 
At  Berlin  three,  one  at  St.  Cloud, 

At  Chatteris,  near  Cambridge,  one, 


4 


1,0  Mary  and  Mildred. 

At  Ely  four,  in  London  two, 

Two  at  Bowness,  in  Paris  none, 

And,  last  and  best,  in  Sarum  three : 

But  dearest  of  the  whole  fair  troop, 

In  judgment  of  the  moment,  she 

Whose  daisy  eyes  had  learn’d  to  droop. 


III. 


HONORIA. 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 

The  Lover. 

1. 

TI  THEN  ripen’d  time  and  chasten’d  will 
* " Have  stretch’d  and  tuned  for  love’s 
accords 

The  five-string’d  lyre  of  life,  until 
It  vibrates  with  the  wind  of  words  ; 

And  “ Woman,”  “ Lady,”  “ She,”  and  “ Her” 
Are  names  for  perfect  Good  and  Fair, 

And  unknown  maidens,  talk’d  of,  stir 
His  thoughts  with  reverential  care  ; 

He  meets,  by  heavenly  chance  express, 

His  destined  wife : some  hidden  hand 


S 4 


The  Accompaniments. 


Unveils  to  him  that  loveliness 
Which  others  cannot  understand. 

No  songs  of  love,  no  summer  dreams 
Did  e’er  his  longing  fancy  fire 
With  vision  like  to  this : she  seems 
In  all  things  better  than  desire. 

His  merits  in  her  presence  grow, 

To  match  the  promise  in  her  eyes, 
And  round  her  happy  footsteps  blow 
The  authentic  airs  of  Paradise. 

For  love  of  her  he  cannot  sleep  ; 

Her  beauty  haunts  him  all  the  night 
It  melts  his  heart,  it  makes  him  weep 
For  wonder,  worship,  and  delight. 

2. 

To  her  account  does  he  transfer 
His  pride,  a base  and  barren  root 
In  him,  but,  grafted  into  her, 

The  bearer  of  Hesperian  fruit. 

He  dresses,  dances  well : he  knows 
A small  weight  turns  a heavy  scale : 


The  Accompaniments.  55 

S 

Who’d  have  her  care  for  him,  and  shows 
Himself  no  care,  deserves  to  fail  : 

The  least  is  well,  yet  nothing’s  light 
In  all  the  lover  does ; for  he 
Who  pitches  hope  at  such  a height 
Will  do  all  things  with  dignity. 

She  is  so  perfect,  true  and  pure, 

Her  virtue  all  virtue  so  endears, 

That,  often,  when  he  thinks  of  her, 

Life’s  meanness  fills  his  eyes  with  tears. 
She’s  far  too  lovely  to  be  wrong : 

Black,  if  she  pleases,  shall  be  white  : 
Prerogative  ties  cavil’s  tongue : 

Being  a Queen  her  wrong  is  right: 

Defect  super-perfection  is : 

Her  great  perfections  make  him  grieve, 
Refusing  him  the  bliss  of  bliss, 

Which  is  to  give,  and  not  receive. 

Her  graces  make  him  rich,  and  ask 
No  guerdon:  this  imperial  style 


£6  The  Accompaniments. 

* 

Affronts  him : he  disdains  to  bask, 

The  pensioner  of  her  priceless  smile. 

He  prays  for  some  hard  thing  to  do, 

Some  work  of  fame  and  labour  immense 

To  stretch  the  languid  bulk  and  thew 
Of  love’s  fresh-born  magnipotence. 

3- 

O,  paradox  of  love,  he  longs, 

Most  humble  when  he  most  aspires, 

To  suffer  scorn  and  cruel  wrongs 
From  her  he  worships  and  desires : 

And  yet  his  passion,  if  need  be, 

Would  spend  all  on  a single  kiss, 

And  call  it  great  economy, 

Counting  the  honour,  not  the  bliss : 

A trifle  serves  for  his  relief, 

A trifle  turns  him  sick  and  pale ; 

And  yet  his  pleasure  and  his  grief 
Are  both  on  a majestic  scale. 


The  Accompaniments.  57 

No  smallest  boon  were  bought  too  dear, 
Though  barter’d  for  his  love-sick  life ; 

Yet  trusts  he,  with  undaunted  cheer, 

To  vanquish  heaven  and  call  her  wife. 

He  notes  how  Queens  of  sweetness  still 
Neglect  their  crowns  and  stoop  to  mate: 
How,  self-consign’d  with  lavish  will, 

They  ask  but  love  proportionate ; 

How  swift  pursuit  by  small  degrees, 

Love’s  tactic,  works  like  miracle ; 

How  valour,  clothed  in  courtesies, 

Brings  down  the  haughtiest  citadel ; 

And  therefore,  though  he  merits  not 
To  kiss  the  braid  upon  her  skirt, 

His  hope,  discouraged  ne’er  a jot. 

Out-soars  all  possible  desert : 

Resistance  only  makes  him  gay : 

The  fiercer  fight  the  fairer  she : 

In  vain  her  distance  says  him  nay : 

Hope,  desperate  grown,  feigns  certainty. 


58 


The  Accompaniments. 


II. 

The  Sentences. 

1. 

f a AHE  foul  in  heart  and  false  in  mind 
Can  never  taste  the  sweets  of  love, 
Nor  in  the  world’s  fair  mistress  find 
What  Love  finds  in  her  scarf  or  glove. 

2. 

Thou  shalt  not  scale  Love’s  height  divine 
By  burrowing  at  its  earthly  base, 

Nor  call  the  priceless  jewel  thine, 

Who  car’st  but  to  affront  the  case ! 

3- 

The  Wrong  is  made  and  measured  by 
The  Right’s  inverted  dignity: 
Adulterous  heart ! as  love  is  high 
So  low  in  hell  thy  bed  shall  be. 


IDYL  III. 


HONORIA, 

i 

T)  ESTLESS  and  sick  of  long  exile 
A From  those  sweet  friends,  I rode  to  see 
The  church-repairs ; and,  after  awhile, 
Waylaying  the  Dean,  was  ask’d  to  tea. 
They  introduced  the  cousin  Fred 

I’d  heard  of,  Honor’s  favorite ; grave, 
Dark,  handsome,  bluff,  but  gently  bred, 

And  with  an  air  of  the  salt  wave. 

He  stared,  and  gave  his  hand,  and  I 

Stared  too : then  donn’d  we  smiles,  the 
shrouds 


bo 


Honona. 


Of  ire,  best  hid  while  she  was  by, 

A sweet  moon  ’twixt  her  lighted  clouds. 


2. 

Whether  this  Cousin  was  the  cause 
I know  not,  but  I seem’d  to  see, 

The  first  time  then,  how  fair  she  was, 
How  much  the  fairest  of  the  three. 

Each  stopp’d  to  let  the  other  go ; 

But  he,  being  time-bound,  rose  the  first. 
Stay’d  he  in  Sarum  long  ? If  so 
I hoped  to  see  him  at  the  Hurst 
No:  he  had  call’d  here,  on  his  way 
To  Portsmouth,  where  the  Arrogant, 
His  ship,  was ; and  should  leave  next  day, 
For  two  years’  cruise  in  the  Levant. 

I watch’d  her  face,  suspecting  germs 
Of  love : her  farewell  show’d  me  plain 
She  loved,  on  the  majestic  terms 
That  she  should  not  be  loved  again. 


Honoria. 


6t 


And  so  her  cousin,  parting,  felt, 

For  all  his  rough  sea  face  grew  red. 
Compassion  did  my  malice  melt : 

Then  went  I home  to  a restless  bed. 

I,  who  admired  her  too,  could  see 
His  infinite  remorse  at  this 
Great  mystery,  that  she  should  be 
So  beautiful,  yet  not  be  his, 

And,  pitying,  long’d  to  plead  his  part ; 

But  scarce  could  tell,  so  strange  my  whim, 
Whether  the  weight  upon  my  heart 
Was  sorrow  for  myself  or  him. 

3- 

She  was  all  mildness ; yet  ’twas  writ 
Upon  her  beauty  legibly, 

“ He  that’s  for  heaven  itself  unfit, 

“ Let  him  not  hope  to  merit  me.” 

And  such  a challenge,  quite  apart 

From  thoughts  of  love,  humbled,  and  thus 


62 


Honoria. 


To  sweet  repentance  moved  my  heart, 
And  made  me  more  magnanimous, 

And  led  me  to  review  my  life, 

Inquiring  where  in  aught  the  least, 

If  question  were  of  her  for  wife, 

111  might  be  mended,  hope  increased  : 
Not  that  I soar’d  so  far  above 

Myself,  as  this  great  hope  to  dare : 

And  yet  I half  foresaw  that  love 

Might  hope  where  reason  would  despair 

4- 

As  drowsiness  my  brain  relieved, 

A shrill  defiance  of  all  to  arms, 

Shriek’d  by  the  stable-cock,  received 
An  angry  answer  from  three  farms. 

And,  first,  I dreamt  that  I,  her  knight, 

A clarion’s  haughty  pathos  heard, 

And  rode  securely  to  the  fight, 

Cased  in  the  scarf  she  had  conferr’d ; 


Honor ia* 


63 


And  there,  the  bristling  lists  behind, 

Saw  many,  and  vanquish’d  all  I saw 
Of  her  unnumber’d  cousin-kind, 

In  Navy,  Army,  Church,  and  Law; 
Then  warriors,  stern  and  Norman-nosed, 
Seem’d  Sarum  choristers,  whose  song, 
Mix’d  with  celestial  grief,  disclosed 
More  joy  than  memory  can  prolong ; 
And  phantasms  as  absurd  and  sweet 
Merged  each  in  each,  in  endless  chace. 
And  everywhere  I seem’d  to  meet 
The  haunting  fairness  of  her  face. 


IV. 

THE  MORNING  CALL. 


6 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 

The  Rose  of  the  World. 


1. 

T O,  when  the  Lord  made  North  and 
South 

And  sun  and  moon  ordained,  He, 
Forthbringing  each  by  word  of  mouth 
In  order  of  its  dignity, 

Did  man  from  the  crude  clay  express 
By  sequence,  and,  all  else  decreed, 

He  form’d  the  woman ; nor  might  less 
Than  Sabbath  such  a work  succeed. 


68 


The  Accompaniments . 


2. 

And  still  with  favour  singled  out, 

Marr’d  less  than  man  by  mortal  Fall, 
Her  disposition  is  devout, 

Her  countenance  angelical ; 

No  faithless  thought  her  instinct  shrouds. 
But  fancy  chequers  settled  sense, 

Like  alteration  of  the  clouds 

On  noonday’s  azure  permanence; 

Pure  courtesy,  composure,  ease, 

Declare  affections  nobly  fix’d, 

And  impulse  sprung  from  due  degrees 
Of  sense  and  spirit  sweetly  mix’d  ; 

Her  modesty,  her  chiefest  grace, 

The  cestus  clasping  Venus’  side, 

Is  potent  to  deject  the  face 

Of  him  who  would  affront  its  pride  ; 
Wrong  dares  not  in  her  presence  speak, 
Nor  spotted  thought  its  taint  disclose 


The  Accompaniments.  69 

Under  the  protest  of  a cheek 
Outbragging  Nature’s  boast  the  rose. 

In  mind  and  manners  how  discreet ! 

How  artless  in  her  very  art ; 

How  candid  in  discourse ; how  sweet 
The  concord  of  her  lips  and  heart ; 

How,  (not  to  call  true  instinct’s  bent 
And  woman’s  very  nature,  harm,) 

How  amiable  and  innocent 

Her  pleasure  in  her  power  to  charm ; 

How  humbly  careful  to  attract. 

Though  crown’d  with  all  the  soul  desires, 

Connubial  aptitude  exact. 

Diversity  that  never  tires. 


70 


The  Accompaniments. 


II. 

The  Tribute. 

\T  O splendour  ’neath  the  sky’s  proud  dome 
^ But  serves  for  her  familiar  wear ; 

The  far-fetch’d  diamond  finds  its  home 
Flashing  and  smouldering  in  her  hair ; 

For  her  the  seas  their  pearls  reveal ; 

Art  and  strange  lands  her  pomp  supply 
With  purple,  chrome,  and  cochineal, 

Ochre,  and  lapis  lazuli ; 

The  worm  its  golden  woof  presents ; 

Whatever  runs,  flies,  dives,  or  delves. 

All  doff  for  her  their  ornaments, 

Which  suit  her  better  than  themselves ; 
And  all,  by  this  their  power  to  give 
Proving  her  right  to  take,  proclaim 
Her  beauty’s  clear  prerogative 
To  profit  so  by  Eden’s  blame. 


The  Accompaniments. 


J 


III. 

The  Sentences. 

1. 

T T OW  easy  it  is  to  keep  sin-free, 

How  hard  that  freedom  to  recall ! 

For  ’tis  the  heavenly  doom  that  we 
Forget  the  heavens  from  which  we  fall. 

2. 

What  holy  lives  we  all  should  live, 

Might  we  remember  joy  and  pain. 

Alas,  that  memory,  like  a sieve, 

Should  hold  the  chaff,  and  drop  the  grain 


IDYL  IV. 


THE  MORNING  CALL. 


1. 

T>Y  meekness  charm’d,  or  proud  to  allow 
“A  queenly  claim  to  live  admired, 

“ Full  many  a lady  has  ere  now 
“ My  apprehensive  fancy  fired, 

“And  woven  many  a transient  chain; 

“ But  never  lady  like  to  this, 

“ Who  holds  me  as  yonder  weather-vane 
“ Is  held  by  yonder  clematis. 

“ She  seems  the  life  of  nature’s  powers : 

“ Her  beauty  is  the  genial  thought 


74  The  Morning  Call. 

“Which makes thesunshinebright;  the  flowers, 
“ But  for  their  hint  of  her,  were  nought.” 

2. 

A voice,  the  sweeter  for  the  grace 
Of  suddenness,  while  thus  I dream’d, 

“ Good-morning ! ” said  or  sang.  Her  face 
The  mirror  of  the  morning  seem’d. 

Her  sisters  in  the  garden  walk’d, 

And  would  I come?  Across  the  Hall 
She  took  me;  and  we  laugh’d  and  talk’d 
About  the  Flower-show,  and  the  Ball. 
Their  pinks  had  won  a spade  for  prize : 

But  that  was  gallantly  withdrawn 
For  “Jones  on  Wiltshire  Butterflies:” 

How  rude ! And  so  we  paced  the  lawn, 
Close-cut,  and,  with  geranium-plots, 

A rival  glow  of  green  and  red ; 

Then  counted  sixty  apricots 

On  one  small  tree.  The  sweet  hour  sped ; 
And  I rode  slow  ’tward  home,  my  breast 
A load  of  joy  and  tender  care : 


The  Morning  Call. 


IS 


And  this  delight,  which  life  oppress’d, 

To  fix’d  aims  grew,  that  ask’d  for  pray’r  : 
And  I reach’d  home,  where,  whip  in  hand 
And  soil’d  bank-notes  all  ready,  stood 
The  Farmer  who  farm’d  all  my  land, 

Except  the  little  Park  and  Wood. 

And,  with  the  accustom’d  compliment 
Of  talk,  and  beef,  and  frothing  beer, 

I,  my  own  steward,  took  my  rent, 

Three  hundred  pounds  for  half  the  year : 
Our  witnesses  the  Maid  and  Groom, 

We  sign’d  the  lease  for  seven  years  more, 
And  bade  Good-day.  Then  to  my  room 
I went,  and  closed  and  lock’d  the  door, 
And  cast  myself  down  on  my  bed, 

And  there,  with  many  a blissful  tear, 

I vow’d  to  love  and  pray’d  to  wed 
The  Maiden  who  had  grown  so  dear  ; 
Thank’d  God  who  had  set  her  in  my  path ; 
And  promised,  as  I hoped  to  win, 


76  The  Morning  Call. 

I never  would  sully  my  faith 
By  the  least  selfishness  or  sin ; 

Whatever  in  her  sight  I’d  seem 
I’d  really  be;  I’d  never  blend 

With  my  delight  in  her  a dream 

’T would  change  her  cheek  to  comprehend; 

And,  if  she  wish’d  it,  I’d  prefer 
Another’s  to  my  own  success ; 

And  always  seek  the  best  for  her, 

With  unofficious  tenderness. 

3- 

Rising,  I breathed  a brighter  clime, 

And  found  myself  all  self  above, 

And,  with  a charity  sublime, 

Contemn’d  not  those  who  did  not  love ; 

And  I could  not  but  feel  that  then 
I shone  with  something  of  her  grace, 

And  went  forth  to  my  fellow  men 
My  commendation  in  my  face. 


Y 


THE  VIOLETS. 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 

T 'he  Parallel. 


T KNOW  not  how  to  her  it  may  seem, 
Or  how  to  a perfect  judging  eye, 

But,  in  my  true  and  calm  esteem, 

Man  misdeserves  his  sweet  ally : 
Where  she  succeeds  with  cloudless  brow. 
In  common  and  in  holy  course, 

He  fails,  in  spite  of  prayer  and  vow, 

And  agonies  of  faith  and  force  : 

Or,  if  his  suit  with  Heaven  prevails 
To  righteous  life,  his  virtuous  deeds 


8o  The  Accompaniments . 

Lack  beauty,  virtue’s  badge  : she  fails 
More  graciously  than  he  succeeds. 

Her  spirit,  compact  of  gentleness, 

If  Heaven  postpones  or  grants  her  pray’ 
Conceives  no  pride  in  its  success. 

And  in  its  failure  no  despair ; 

But  his,  enamour’d  of  its  hurt, 

Baffled,  blasphemes,  or,  not  denied, 
Crows  from  the  dunghill  of  desert, 

And  wags  its  ugly  wings  for  pride. 

He’s  never  young  nor  ripe ; she  grows 
More  infantine,  auroral,  mild ; 

And  still  the  more  she  lives  and  knows 
The  lovelier  she’s  express’d  a child. 

Say  that  she  wants  the  will  of  man 

To  conquer  fame,  not  check’d  by  cross, 
Nor  moved  when  others  bless  or  ban; 

She  wants  but  what  to  have  were  loss; 
Or  say  she  holds  no  seals  of  power, 

But  humbly  lives  her  life  at  school ; 


The  Accompaniments.  81 

Alas,  we  have  yet  to  hail  the  hour 

When  God  shall  clothe  the  best  with  rule. 
Or  say  she  wants  the  patient  brain 
To  track  shy  truth ; her  facile  wit 
At  that  which  he  hunts  down  with  pain 
Flies  straight,  and  does  exactly  hit : 

Nay,  though  she  were  half  what  she  is, 

He  twice  himself,  mere  love  alone, 

Her  special  crown,  'as  truth  is  his, 

Gives  title  to  the  loftier  throne  : 

For  love  is  substance,  truth  the,  form : 

Truth  without  love  were  less  than  nought; 
But  blindest  love  is  sweet  and  warm, 

And  full  of  truth  not  shaped  by  thought : 
And  therefore  in  herself  she  stands 
Adorn’d  with  undeficient  grace, 

Her  happy  virtues  taking  hands, 

Each  smiling  in  another’s  face : 

So  dancing  round  the  Tree  of  Life, 

They  make  an  Eden  in  her  breast, 

6 


82 


The  Accompaniments. 


Whilst  his,  disjointed  and  at  strife, 

Proud-thoughted,  do  not  bring  him  rest. 
But  ever  groan  and  gasp  for  dearth 
Of  that  in  her  with  which  they  agree. 
Like  rude  base  notes,  of  little  worth 
Till  married  to  their  melody. 


2. 

Her  privilege,  not  impotence. 

Exempts  her  from  the  work  of  man  : 

Humbling  his  proper  excellence, 

Jeanne  d’Arc  led  war’s  obstreperous  van : 

No  post  of  policy  or  pride 

Does  Heaven  from  her  holding  grudge : 

Miriam  and  Anna  prophesied, 

In  Israel  Deborah  was  judge; 

Countless  the  Christian  heroines 

Who’ve  blest  the  world,  and  still  do  bless ; 

The  praise  their  equal  courage  wins 

Counts  tenfold  through  their  tenderness ; 


The  Accompaniments . 


% 


And,  ah,  sad  times  gone  by,  denied 
The  joyfullest  omen  ever  seen. 

The  full-grown  Lion’s  power  and  pride 
Led  by  the  soft  hands  of  a Queen. 

3- 

Yet,  lest  my  tender-thoughted  strain 

Should  seem  to  impugn  the  right  decree 
Of  Him  who  made  the  human  twain 
Conjoin’d  in  this  disparity. 

My  Song  declares  the  heavenly  art 

Which  crowns  her  wealth  with  his  defect, 
And,  in  love’s  high  exacting  mart, 

Pays  poor  desert  with  rich  respect ; 

And  makes  this  much  unequal  pair 
Well-match’d  in  all  that  love  requires, 

If  she’s  incomparably  fair, 

And  he  incomparably  admires. 


84 


The  Accompaniments. 


II. 

The  Sentences. 


1. 

T OVE  in  the  Loved  his  likeness  loves, 
But  loves  the  lovely  difference  more, 
And  like  in  diverse  doubly  moves 

His  love  ’tward  each,  twice  loved  before. 

2. 

Of  all  the  love-producing  host 
Of  virtues  which  in  her  agree, 

’Tis  vanity  becomes  her  most, 

Perfecting  her  by  flattering  me. 

3- 

Fatal  in  force  yet  gentle  in  will, 

Her  power  makes,  riot  defeats,  but  pacts; 
For,  like  the  kindly  loadstone,  still 

She’s  drawn  herself  by  what  she  attracts. 


IDYL  V. 


THE  VIOLETS. 


1. 

T WENT  not  to  the  Dean’s  unbid, 
For  I’d  not  have  my  mystery, 

From  her  so  delicately  hid, 

Discuss’d  by  gossips  at  their  tea. 

A long,  long  week,  and  not  once  there. 
Had  made  my  spirit  sick  and  faint, 
And  lack-love,  foul  as  love  is  fair, 
Perverted  all  things  to  complaint. 
How  vain  the  world  had  grown  to  be  ! 
How  mean  all  people  and  their  ways, 


86 


The  Violets . 


How  ignorant  their  sympathy, 

And  how  impertinent  their  praise ; 
What  they  for  virtuousness  esteem’d, 

How  far  removed  from  heavenly  right ; 
What  pettiness  their  trouble  seem’d, 

How  undelightful  their  delight; 

To  my  necessity  how  strange 

The  sunshine  and  the  song  of  birds. 
How  dull  the  clouds’  continual  change, 
How  foolishly  content  the  herds  ; 

How  unaccountable  the  law 

Whiqh  bade  me  sit  in  blindness  here, 
While  she,  the  sun  by  which  I saw, 

Shed  splendour  in  an  idle  sphere ! 

And  then  I kiss’d  her  stolen  glove, 

And  sigh’d  to  reckon  and  define 
The  modes  of  martyrdom  in  love, 

And  how  far  each  one  might  be  mine : 

I thought  how  love,  whose  vast  estate 
Is  earth  and  air  and  sun  and  sea, 


The  Violets . 


Encounters  oft  the  beggar’s  fate, 

Despised  on  score  of  poverty; 

How  parents’  pride  the  living’s  cause 
To  Death’s  arbitrement  refers, 

Asks  who  some  other’s  husband  was, 

And  so  decides  who  shall  be  her’s ; 
How  Nature,  as  unnatural 

And  contradicting  Nature’s  source, 
Which  is  but  love,  seems  most  of  all 
Well-pleased  to  harry  true  love’s  course 
How,  many  times,  it  comes  to  pass 
That  trifling  shades  of  temperament, 
Affecting  only  one,  alas, 

Not  love,  but  love’s  success  prevent; 
How  manners  often  falsely  paint 
The  man ; how  passionate  respect, 

Hid  by  itself,  may  bear  the  taint 
Of  coldness  and  a dull  neglect ; 

And  how  a little  outward  dust 
Can  a clear  merit  quite  o’ercloud, 


88 


The  Violets. 


And  make  her  fatally  unjust, 

And  him  desire  a darker  shroud ; 

How  senseless  Opportunity 

Gives  baser  men  the  better  chance ; 

How  all  things,  each  in  its  degree, 

Impose  upon  her  ignorance; 

How  Heaven,  inscrutable  in  this, 

Lets  the  gross  general  make  or  mar 
The  destiny  of  love,  which  is 
So  tender  and  particular ; 

Say  rather  how  itself  conspires 

With  Man  and  Nature  against  love, 

As  pleased  to  couple  cross  desires, 

And  cross  where  they  themselves  approve 
Wretched  were  life,  if  the  end  were  now! 

But  this  gives  tears  to  dry  despair, 

Faith  shall  be  blest,  we  know  not  how. 

And  love  fulfill’d,  we  know  not  where. 
While  thus  I grieved,  and  kiss’d  her  glove, 
My  man  brought  in  her  note  to  say, 


The  Violets. 


89 


Papa  had  bid  her  send  his  love, 

And  hoped  I’d  dine  with  them  next  day. 
They  had  learn’d  and  practised  Purcell’s  glee, 
To  sing  it  by  to-morrow  night. 

The  Postscript  was : Her  sisters  and  she 
Inclosed  some  violets,  blue  and  white : 

She  and  her  sisters  found  them  where 
I wager’d  once  no  violets  grew; 

So  they  had  won  the  gloves.  And  there 
The  violets  lay,  two  white,  one  blue. 


VI. 


THE  DEAN, 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 

Frost  in  Harvest. 

F | AHE  lover  who,  across  a gulf 
Of  ceremony,  views  his  Love, 
And  dares  not  yet  address  herself, 

Pays  worship  to  her  stolen  glove. 

The  gulf  o’erleapt,  the  lover  wed, 

It  happens  oft,  (let  truth  be  told,) 
The  halo  leaves  the  sacred  head, 

Respect  grows  lax,  and  worship  cold. 
And  all  love’s  May-day  promising, 

Like  song  of  birds  before  they  pair, 


94  The  Accompaniments. 

I 

Or  flush  of  flowers  in  boastful  Spring, 
Dies  out,  and  leaves  the  Summer  bare. 
Yet  should  a man,  it  seems  to  me, 
Honour  what  honourable  is, 

For  some  more  honourable  plea 
Than  only  that  it  is  not  his. 

The  gentle  wife,  who  decks  his  board 
And  makes  his  day  to  have  no  night, 
Whose  wishes  wait  upon  her  Lord, 

Who  finds  her  own  in  his  delight, 

Is  she  another  now  than  she 

Who,  mistress  of  her  maiden  charms, 
At  his  wild  prayer,  incredibly 

Committed  them  to  his  proud  arms  ? 
Unless  her  choice  of  him’s  a slur 
Which  makes  her  proper  credit  dim, 
He  never  enough  can  honour  her 

Who  past  all  speech  has  honour’d  him. 


The  Accompaniments. 


95 


II. 

Love  Justified. 

TT  THAT  if  my  pole-star  of  respect 
" ’ Be  dim  to  others,  shall  their  “Nay,” 
Presumably  their  own  defect, 

Invalidate  my  heart’s  strong  “Yea?  ” 
And  can  they  rightly  me  condemn, 

If  I,  with  partial  love,  prefer  ? 

I am  not  more  unjust  to  them, 

But  only  not  unjtfst  to  her. 

Leave  us  alone ! After  awhile, 

This  pool  of  private  charity 
Shall  change  its  shores  into  an  isle. 

And  roll  a world-embracing  sea 
This  little  germ  of  nuptial  love, 

Which  springs  so  simply  from  the  sod, 
The  root  is,  as  my  Song  shall  prove, 

Of  all  our  love  to  man  and  God. 


The  Accompaniments. 


96 


III. 

Perfect  Love  rare. 

"]&  /TOST  rare  is  still  most  noble  found, 
LV-L  Most  noble  still  most  incomplete  : 
Sad  law,  which  leaves  King  Love  uncrown’ 
In  this  obscure,  terrestrial  seat ! 

With  bale  more  sweet  than  others’  bliss, 
And  bliss  more  wise  than  others’  bale, 
The  secrets  of  the  world  are  his, 

And  freedom  without  let  or  pale. 

O,  zealous  good,  O,  virtuous  glee, 

Religious,  and  without  alloy, 

O,  privilege  high,  which  none  but  he 
Who  chastely  merits  can  enjoy; 

O,  Love,  who  art  that  fabled  sun 

Which  all  the  world  with  bounty  loads, 
Without  respect  of  realms,  save  one, 

And  gilds  with  double  lustre  Rhodes, 


The  Accompaniments.  97 

Thy  heavenly  splendour  magnifies 
The  least  admixture  of  earth’s  mould, 
Cheapens  thyself  in  thine  own  eyes, 

And  makes  the  foolish  mocker  bold. 


98 


The  Accompaniments. 


IV. 

The  Sentences. 

l. 

T ~TE  safely  walks  in  darkest  ways, 

A Whose  youth  is  lighted  from  above, 
Where,  through  the  senses’  silvery  haze, 
Dawns  the  veil’d  moon  of  nuptial  love. 


2. 

Who  is  the  Happy  Husband  ? He 
Who,  scanning  his  unwedded  life, 
Thanks  Heaven,  with  a conscience  free, 
’Twas  faithful  to  his  future  Wife. 


IDYL  VI. 


THE  DEAN. 


l. 

f | ^HE  Ladies  rose.  I held  the  door, 
And  sigh’d,  as  her  departing  grace 
Assured  me  that  she  always  wore 
A heart  as  happy  as  her  face ; 

And,  jealous  of  the  winds  that  blew, 

I dreaded,  o’er  the  tasteless  wine, 
What  fortune  momently  might  do 
To  hurt  the  hope  that  she’d  be  mine. 


100 


The  Dean. 


2. 

■* 

Towards  my  mark  the  Dean’s  talk  set : 

He  praised  my  “ Notes  on  Abury.” 
Read  when  the  Association  met 
At  Sarum ; he  was  glad  to  see 
I had  not  stopp’d,  as  some  men  had, 

At  Wrangler  and  Prize  Poet;  last. 

He  hoped  the  business  was  not  bad 
I came  about : then  the  wine  pass’d. 

3- 

A full  glass  prefaced  my  reply  : 

I loved  his  daughter,  Honor : he  knew 
My  estate  and  prospects : might  I try 
To  win  her?  In  his  eyes  tears  grew. 
He  thought  ’twas  that.  I might : he  gave 
His  true  consent,  if  I could  get 
Her  love.  A dear  good  Girl ! she’d  have 
Only  three  thousand  pounds  as  yet: 


The  Dean. 


101 


More  bye  and  bye.  Yes,  his  goodwill 
Should  go  with  me : he  would  not  stir : 
He  and  my  father  in  old  time  still 
Wish’d  I should  one  day  marry  her ; 

But  God  so  seldom  lets  us  take 

The  road  we  think  our  best,  when  it  lies 
In  steps  that  either  mar  or  make 
Or  alter  others’  destinies, 

That,  though  his  blessing  and  his  prayer 
Had  help’d,  should  help,  my  suit,  yet  he 
Left  all  to  me,  his  passive  share 
Consent  and  opportunity. 

My  chance,  he  hoped,  was  good : I’d  won 
Some  name  already ; friends  and  place 
Appear’d  within  my  reach;  but  none 
Her  mind  and  manners  would  not  grace. 
Girls  love  to  see  the  men  in  whom 
They  invest  their  vanities  admired : 
Besides,  where  goodness  is,  there  room 
For  good  to  work  will  be  desired. 


102 


The  Dean. 


’Twas  so  with  one  now  past  away : 

And  what  she  was  at  twenty-two, 

Honor  was  now : and  he  might  say 
Mine  was  a choice  I could  not  rue. 

4* 

He  ceased,  and  gave  his  hand.  He  had  won 
(And  joyful  tears  avouch’d  my  word) 

From  me  the  affection  of  a son, 

Whichever  fortune  Heaven  conferr’d. 
Well,  well,  would  I take  more  wine?  Then  go 
To  her : she  makes  tea  on  the  Lawn 
These  fine  warm  afternoons.  And  so 
We  went  whither  my  soul  was  drawn; 
And  her  light-hearted  ignorance 
Of  interest  in  our  discourse 
Fill’d  me  with  love,  and  seem’d  to  enhance 
Her  beauty  with  pathetic  force, 

As,  through  the  flowery  mazes  sweet, 
Fronting  the  wind  that  flutter’d  blythe, 


The  Dean.  103 

And  loved  her  shape,  and  made  her  feet 
Bare  to  their  insteps  proud  and  lithe, 

She  approach’d,  all  mildness  and  young  trust; 

And  ever  her  chaste  and  noble  air 
Gave  to  love’s  feast  its  choicest  gust, 

A vague,  faint  augury  of  despair. 


f. 


VII. 


.ETNA  AND  THE  MOON. 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 

T ’he  Queen. 

1. 

f | heroism  and  holiness 
A How  hard  it  is  for  man  to  soar, 

But  how  much  harder  to  be  less 

Than  what  his  mistress  loves  him  for ! 
He  does  with  ease  what  do  he  must, 

Or  lose  her,  and  there’s  nought  debarr’d 
From  him  who’s  call’d  to  meet  her  trust, 
And  credit  her  desired  regard. 

Ah,  wasteful  woman,  she  that  may  • 

On  her  sweet  self  set  her  own  price, 


io8 


The  Accompaniments. 


Knowing  he  cannot  choose  but  pay, 

How  has  she  cheapen’d  paradise ; 

How  given  for  nought  her  priceless  gift, 
How  spoil’d  the  bread  and  spill’d  the  wine, 

Which,  spent  with  due,  respective  thrift, 

Had  made  brutes  men  and  men  divine. 

2. 

0 Queen,  awake  to  thy  renown, 

Require  what  ’tis  our  wealth  to  give. 

And  comprehend  and  wear  the  crown 
Of  thy  despised  prerogative  ! 

1 who  in  manhood’s  name  at  length 
With  glad  songs  come  to  abdicate 

The  gross  regality  of  strength, 

Must  yet  in  this  thy  praise  abate. 

That  through  thine  erring  humbleness 
Aaid  disregard  of  thy  degree. 

Mainly,  has  man  been  so -much  less 
Than  fits  his  fellowship  with  thee. 


The  Accompaniments.  109 

High  thoughts  had  shaped  the  foolish  brow, 
The  coward  had  grasp’d  the  hero’s  sword 
The  vilest  had  been  great,  hadst  thou, 

Just  to  thyself,  been  worth’s  reward : 

But  lofty  honours  undersold 
Seller  and  buyer  both  disgrace ; 

And  favour  that  makes  folly  bold 
Puts  out  the  light  in  virtue’s  face. 


1 io 


The  Accompaniments. 


II. 

The  Sentences. 


1. 

^T^HAIS,  my  heart’s  no  match  for  thine: 

Waste  not  thy  warmth  on  me;  but  go 
Seek  out  some  chillier  spirit:  mine 
Asks  not  another  fire,  but  snow. 


2. 

The  lack  of  lovely  pride  in  her 

Who  strives  to  please,  my  pleasure  numbs ; 
And  still  the  maid  I most  prefer 

Whose  care  to  please  with  pleasing  comes. 


IDYL  VII. 


.ETNA  AND  THE  MOON. 


i. 

A | \0  ease  my  heart,  I,  feigning,  seized 

A pen,  and,  showering  tears,  declared 
My  unfeign’d  passion ; sadly  pleased 
Only  to  dream  that  so  I dared. 

Thus  was  the  fervid  truth  confess’d, 

And  love,  the  paradox,  penn’d  the  plea, 
As  wilfully  in  hope  depress’d, 

Yet  bold  beyond  hope’s  warranty : 


i 12 


JEtna  and  the  Moon . 


2. 

• 

“O,  more  than  dear,  be  more  than  just, 
“And  do  not  deafly  shut  the  door! 

“ I claim  no  right  to  speak ; I trust 

“ Mercy,  not  right : yet  who  has  more  ? 

“ For,  if  more  love  makes  not  more  fit, 

“ Of  claimants  here  none’s  more  nor  less ; 

“ Since  your  great  worth  does  not  permit 
“ Degrees  in  our  unworthiness. 

“Yet,  if  there’s  aught  that  can  be  done 
“ With  arduous  labour  of  long  years, 

“ By  which  you’ll  say  that  you’ll  be  won, 

“ O tell  me,  and  I’ll  dry  my  tears. 

“Ah,  no ; if  loving  cannot  move, 

“ How  foolishly  must  labour  fail ! 

“ The  use  of  deeds  is  to  show  love : 

“ If  signs  suffice  let  these  avail: 

“Your  name  pronounced  brings  to  my  heart 
“A  feeling  like  the  violet’s  breath. 


JEtna  and  the  Moon. 


n3 

“ Which  does  so  much  of  heaven  impart 
“As  makes  me  yearn  with  tears  for  death ; 
“ The  winds  that  in  the  garden  toss 
“ The  Guelder-roses  give  me  pain, 

“Alarm  me  with  the  dread  of  loss, 

“ Exhaust  me  with  the  dream  of  gain ; 

“ I’m  troubled  by  the  clouds  that  move; 

“ The  breath  shakes  me  when  I respire 
“And  ever,  like  a torch,  my  love, 

“ Thus  agitated,  flames  the  higher; 

“All’s  hard  that  has  not  you  for  goal; 

“ I scarce  can  move  my  pen  to  write, 

“ For  love  engages  all  my  soul, 

“And  leaves  my  body  void  of  might; 

“ The  wings  of  will  spread  idly  as  do 
“ The  bird’s  that  in  a vacuum  lies; 

“ My  breast,  asleep  with  dreams  of  you, 

“ Forgets  to  breathe,  and  bursts  in  sigh  ■ ; 

“ I see  no  rest  this  side  the  grave, 

“No  rest  or  hope,  from  you  apart; 

8 


ii4 


/Etna  and  the  Moon . 


“ Your  life  is  in  the  rose  you  gave, 

“ Its  perfume  suffocates  my  heart ; 

“ There’s  no  refreshment  in  the  breeze ; 

“ The  heaven  o’erwhelms  me  with  its  blue  ; 
“ I faint  beside  the  dancing  seas ; 

“ Winds,  skies,  and  waves  are  only  you; 

“ Where’er  I go,  wandering  forlorn, 

“You  are  the  world’s  love,  life,  and  glee: 

“ O,  wretchedness  not  to  be  borne 

“ If  she  that’s  Love  should  not  love  me!” 

3- 

I could  not  write  another  word, 

Through  pity  for  my  own  distress ; 

And  forth  I went,  untimely  stirr’d 
To  make  my  misery  more  or  less. 

I went  beneath  the  heated  noon, 

Until  I came  where,  simple  and  free. 

She  sat  at  work ; and,  as  the  Moon 
On  iEtna  smiles,  she  smiled  on  me ; 


A Etna  and  the  Moon. 


u5 


And  then  grew  pale  and  grave.  No  more. 

The  Dean,  by  ill  or  happy  hap, 

Came  home ; and  Wolf  burst  in  before. 
And  put  his  nose  upon  her  lap. 


VIII. 


SARUM  PLAIN. 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 

Present  Good  contemned. 

T T OW  long  shall  men  deny  the  flower, 
Because  its  roots  are  in  the  earth ; 
And  crave  with  tears  from  God  the  dower 
They  have,  and  have  despised  as  dearth ; 
And  scorn  as  low  their  human  lot, 

With  frantic  pride,  too  blind  to  see 
That  standing  on  the  head  makes  not 
Either  for  ease  or  dignity  ? 

But  fools  shall  feel  like  fools  to  find, 

(Too  late  inform’d,)  that  Angels’  mirth 
Is  one  in  cause  and  mode  and  kind 

With  that  which  they  contemn’d  on  earth 


120 


The  Accompaniments. 


II. 

The  Revelation. 

A N idle  Poet,  here  and  there, 

**■  ^ Looks  round  him,  but,  for  all  the  rest, 
The  world,  unfathomably  fair, 

Is  duller  than  a witling’s  jest. 

Love  wakes  men,  once  a life-time  each ; 

They  lift  their  heavy  lids,  and  look ; 

And,  lo,  what  one  sweet  page  can  teach 
They  read  with  joy,  then  shut  the  book : 
And  some  give  thanks,  and  some  blaspheme. 
And  most  forget ; but,  either  way, 

That  and  the  Child’s  unheeded  dream 
Is  all  the  light  of  all  their  day. 


The  Accompaniments. 


121 


III. 

Love  in  Idleness. 

TT'XCEPT  love’s  toil  has  love  for  prize, 
(And  then  he’s  Hercules,}  above 
All  other  contrarieties 

Is  labour  contrary  to  love. 

No  fault  of  love’s,  but  Nature’s  Laws: 

And  love  in  idleness  lies  quick  ; 

For,  as  the  worm  whose  powers  make  pause 
And  swoon,  through  alteration  sick, 

The  soul,  its  wingless  state  dissolved, 

Awaits  its  nuptial  life  complete, 

All  indolently  self-convolved, 

Cocoon’d  in  silken  fancies  sweet. 


122 


The  Accompaniments. 


IV. 

The  Tempest. 

h | HE  storm-cloud,  whose  portentous  shade 
“*■  Fumes  from  a core  of  smother’d  fire, 
His  livery  is,  whose  worship’d  maid 
Denies  herself  to  his  desire. 

Ah,  grief  that  almost  crushes  life, 

To  lie  upon  his  lonely  bed 
And  fancy  her  another’s  wife ! 

His  brain  is  flame,  his  heart  is  lead ; 

Hope  is  despised,  and  death  esteem’d  : 

And  yet  this  tempest  shall  not  blast : 
Incredible  as  late  it  seem’d, 

The  unscarr’d  heavens  grow  clear  at  last. 


The  Accompaniments. 


V. 

Love  in  Tears. 

TF  fate  Love’s  dear  ambition  mar, 

A And  load  his  breast  with  hopeless  pain 
And  seem  to  blot  out  sun  and  star, 

Love,  lost  or  won,  is  countless  gain : 
His  sorrow  boasts  a secret  bliss 
Which  sorrow  of  itself  beguiles, 

And  Love  in  tears  too  noble  is 
For  pity,  save  of  Love  in  smiles. 

But  looking  backward  through  his  tears. 
With  vision  of  maturer  scope, 

How  often  one  dead  joy  appears 
The  platform  of  some  better  hope  ! 

And,  let  us  own,  the  sharpest  smart 
Which  human  patience  may  endure 
Pays  light  for  that  which  leaves  the  heart 
More  generous,  dignified,  and  pure. 


124 


The  Accompaniments. 


VI. 

The  Sentences. 


l. 

T’LL  speak  the  truth,  (it  will  not  blast !) 

In  tenderest  love-strains  most  we  hear 
The  dubious  chords,  which,  while  they  last. 
Deject  love’s  very  life  with  fear. 


2. 

T o me,  who  make  of  love  my  boast, 

Be  this  sad  word  by  love  forgiven. 
Strange  times  there  are  when  love’s  almost 
As  joyless  as  the  hope  of  heaven. 


IDYL  VIII. 


SARUM  PLAIN. 


1. 

“QREAKFAST  enjoy’d,  with  hush  of 
boughs 

And  perfumes  thro’  the  windows  blown  ; 
Brief  worship  done,  which  still  endows 
The  day  with  beauty  not  its  own; 

With  intervening  rest,  that  paints 

Each  act  with  honour,  and  makes  lives  calm 
As  old  processions  of  the  Saints, 

At  every  step  a wand  of  palm ; 


Sarum  Plain. 


1 26 

Then  light  shawls  donn’d  with  help,  we  drove 
To  Wilton;  there  discuss’d  again, 

Till  all  at  last  agreed  to  approve 

The  Lombard  church;  then,  ’tward  the  Plain, 
We  past  my  house  (remark’d  with  praise 
By  the  others,  and  she  acquiesced)  ; 

And,  leaving  the  old  and  lazy  greys 
Below  the  hill,  we  walk’d  the  rest. 


2. 

The  moods  of  love  are  like  the  wind; 

And  none  knows  whence  or  why  they  rise 
I ne’er  before  felt  heart  and  mind 
So  much  affected  through  mine  eyes. 

How  cognate  with  the  flatter’d  air, 

How  native  to  the  earth  her  throne, 

She  moved  ; how  feeling  and  how  fair 
For  other’s  pleasure  and  her  own : 

And,  ah,  the  heaven  of  her  face  : 

How,  when  she  laugh’d,  I seem’d  to  see 


Sarum  Plain. 


l27 


The  gladness  of  the  primal  grace, 

And  how,  when  grave,  its  dignity  ! 

Of  all  she  was,  the  least  not  less 
Delighted  the  devoted  eye. 

No  fold  or  fashion  of  her  dress 
Her  dearness  did  not  sanctify : 

Better  it  seem’d  as  now  to  walk, 

And  humbly  by  her  gentle  side 
To  observe  her  smile  and  hear  her  talk, 
Than  call  the  world’s  next  best  my  bride. 
I could  not  else  than  grieve.  What  cause  ? 

Was  I not  blest,  was  she  not  there, 
Likely  my  own  ? Ah,  that  it  was  : 

How  like  seem’d  ‘ likely  ’ to  despair  ! 

3- 

And  yet  to  see  her  so  benign, 

So  amiable  and  womanly, 

In  every  Christian  kindness  mine, 

And  full  of  maiden  courtesy, 


128 


Sarum  Plain. 


Was  pleasure  so  without  alloy, 

Such  unreproved,  sufficient  bliss, 

I almost  wish’d,  the  while,  that  joy 
Might  never  further  go  than  this. 

I feign’d  her  won : the  mind  finite, 

Puzzled  and  fagg’d  by  stress  and  strain 
To  comprehend  the  whole  delight, 

Made  bliss  more  hard  to  bear  than  pain  : 
All  good,  save  power  to  taste,  so  summ’d 
And  grasp’d,  it  smote  me  like  a knife 
That  sin  had  narrow’d,  dull’d  and  numb’d 
The  senses  to  the  feast  of  life ; 

That  passing  good  breathes  sweetest  breath ; 

And  love  itself  at  highest  reveals 
More  black  than  bright,  commending  death, 
By  teaching  how  much  life  conceals. 

4- 

But  happier  passions  these  subdued, 

When  from  the  close  and  sultry  lane. 


Sarum  Plain. 


129 


With  eyes  made  bright  by  what  they  view’d, 
We  emerged  upon  the  mounded  Plain. 

As  to  the  breeze  a flag  unfurls 

My  spirit  expanded,  sweetly  embraced 
By  those  same  gusts  which  shook  her  curls 
And  vex’d  the  ribbon  at  her  waist. 

To  the  future  cast  I future  cares; 

Breathed  with  a heart  unfreighted,  free, 
And  laugh’d  at  the  presumptuous  airs 
That  with  her  muslins  folded  me; 

Till,  one  vague  rack  along  my  sky, 

The  thought  that  she  might  ne’er  be  mine 
Lay  half  forgotten  by  the  eye 

So  feasted  with  the  Sun’s  warm  shine. 

5* 

By  the  great  stones  we  chose  our  ground 
For  shade;  and  there,  in  converse  sweet, 
Took  luncheon.  On  a little  mound 
Sat  the  three  ladies : at  their  feet, 


9 


13° 


Sarum  Plain. 


I sat ; and  smelt  the  heathy  smell, 

Pluck’d  hare-bells,  turn’d  the  telescope 
To  the  country  round.  My  life  went  well, 
That  hour,  without  the  wheels  of  hope : 
And  I despised  the  Druid  rocks 

That  scowl’d  their  chill  gloom  from  above, 
Like  churls  whose  stolid  wisdom  mocks 
The  lightness  of  immortal  love. 


IX. 


THE  RAILWAY. 


The  Accompaniments. 


*33 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 

I. 

The  Miscreant. 

MAN,  (and  Legion  is  thy  name,) 
Who  hadst  for  dowry  with  thy  wife 
A conduct  void  of  outward  blame, 

The  beauty  of  a loyal  life, 

Is  nature  in  thee  too  spiritless, 

Ignoble,  impotent,  and  dead, 

To  prize  her  love  and  loveliness 

The  more  for  being  thy  daily  bread  ? 
And  art  thou  one  of  that  vile  crew 
Which  see  no  splendour  in  the  sun. 


*34 


The  Accompaniments . 


Praising  alone  the  good  that’s  new, 

Or  over,  or  not  yet  begun  ? 

And  has  it  dawn’d  on  thy  dull  wits 
That  love  warms  many  as  soft  a nest. 
And,  though  swathed  round  with  benefits, 
Thou  art  not  singularly  blest ; 

And  fail  thy  thanks  for  gifts  divine, 

The  common  food  of  many  a heart, 
Because  they  are  not  only  thine  ? 

Beware  lest  in  the  end  thou  art 
Cast  like  a goat  forth  from  the  fold, 

Too  proud  to  feel  the  common  grace 
Of  blissful  myriads  who  behold 
For  evermore  the  Father’s  face. 


The  Accompaniments. 


*35 


II. 

The  Wife's  Tragedy. 

/T AN  must  be  pleased ; but  him  to  please 
Is  woman’s  pleasure:  down  the  gulf 
Of  his  condoled  necessities 

She  casts  her  best,  she  flings  herself : 

How  often  flings  for  nought ! and  yokes 
Her  heart  to  an  icicle  or  whim, 

Whose  each  impatient  word  provokes 
Another,  not  from  her,  but  him ; 

While  she,  too  gentle  even  to  force 
His  penitence  by  kind  replies, 

Waits  by,  expecting  his  remorse, 

With  pardon  in  her  pitying  eyes : 

And  if  he  at  last,  by  shame  oppress’d, 

A comfortable  word  confers, 


136  The  Accompaniments. 


She  leans  and  weeps  against  his  breast, 

And  seems  to  think  the  sin  was  hers : 

And  while  his  love  has  any  life, 

Or  any  eye  to  see  her  charms, 

At  any  time,  she’s  still  his  wife, 

Dearly  devoted  to  his  arms. 

She  loves  with  love  that  cannot  tire 
And  if,  ah  woe,  she  loves  alone. 

Through  passionate  duty  love  flames  higher. 
As  grass  grows  taller  round  a stone. 


The  Accompaniments , 


137 


III. 

The  Sentences. 

1. 

TT'EMALE  and  male  God  made  the  Man 
His  Image  is  the  whole,  not  half; 
And,  in  our  love,  we  dimly  scan 

The  love  which  is  between  Himself. 


2. 

Lo,  there,  whence  love,  life,  light  are  pour’d. 
Veil’d  with  impenetrable  rays, 

Amidst  the  presence  of  the  Lord 
Coequal  Wisdom  laughs  and  plays,* 


* Prov.  viii.  22-30. 


138  * The  Accompaniments. 


3* 

Few  hear  my  song:  it  soars  above 
The  subtlest  senses  of  the  swarm 
Of  wretched  things  which  know  not  love, 
Their  Psyche  still  a wingless  worm. 


IDYL  IX. 


THE  RAILWAY 


l. 

T STOOD  by  Honor  and  the  Dean, 

A They  seated  in  the  London  T rain  : 
A month  from  her ! yet  this  had  been, 
Ere  now,  without  such  bitter  pain. 
But  neighbourhood  makes  parting  light, 
And  distance  remedy  has  none : 

She  near,  I,  grateful,  felt  as  might 
A blind  man  sitting  in  the  sun  : 

She  near,  all  for  the  time  was  well ; 
Hope’s  self,  when  we  were  far  apart, 


140 


The  Railway. 


With  lonely  feeling,  like  the  smell 
Of  heath  on  mountains,  fill’d  my  heart 
To  see  her  was  delight’s  full  scope ; 

And  her  kind  smile,  so  clear  of  care, 
That  day,  though  darkening  all  my  hope 
Gilded  the  cloud  of  my  despair. 


2. 

She  had  forgot  to  bring  a book  : 

I lent  one ; blamed  the  print  for  old ; 
And  did  not  tell  her  that  she  took 
A Tasso  worth  its  weight  in  gold. 

I hoped  she’d  lose  it ; for  my  love 
Was  grown  so  dainty,  high,  and  nice, 
It  prized  no  luxury  above 

The  sense  of  fruitless  sacrifice. 

3- 

The  Train  stirr’d;  with  it,  all  my  worth 
My  spirits  fled  in  fear  to  mine  eyes, 


The  Railway.  141 

As  in  Peru,  if  moves  the  Earth, 

The  people  hurry  out  with  cries. 

I bade  her  adieu,  shook  hands  with  the  Dean, 
Ask’d  him  arriv’d  to  write ; forth  roll’d ; 

\ bitter  tear  or  two  unseen, 

She  reading  Tasso ; then  the  bell  toll’d  ; 

And,  with  a shock  and  shriek  like  death, 
Link  catching  link,  the  long  array, 

With  ponderous  pulse  and  fiery  breath, 

Proud  of  its  burthen,  swept  away ; 

And  through  the  lingering  crowd  I broke ; 
Sought  the  church-tower,  and  thence,  heart- 
sick, 

Beheld,  far  offj  the  little  smoke 

Along  the  landscape  kindling  quick. 

4- 

What  should  I do,  where  should  I go, 

Now  she  was  gone,  my  Love ! for  mine 

She  was,  whatever  here  below 

Cross’d  or  usurp’d  my  right  divine. 


l,p 


The  Railway. 


Life  without  her  was  vain  and  gross ; 

The  glory  from  the  world  was  gone; 
And  on  the  gardens  of  the  Close 
As  on  Saharah  shone  the  sun. 

Oppress’d  with  her  departed  grace, 

My  thoughts  on  ill  surmises  fed : 

The  harmful  influence  of  the  place 
She  went  to,  fill’d  my  soul  with  dread. 
She,  mixing  with  the  people  there, 

Might  come  back  alter’d,  having  caught 
The  foolish,  fashionable  air 

Of  knowing  all,  and  feeling  naught. 

Or,  giddy  with  her  beauty’s  praise, 

She’d  scorn  our  simple  country  life, 

Its  wholesome  nights  and  tranquil  days, 
No  longer  fit  to  be  my  wife. 

“To  be  my  wife,”  oh,  tenderest  word  ! 

How  oft,  as  fearful  she  might  hear, 
Whispering  that  name  of  “ wife,”  I heard 
Therein  the  love-song  of  the  sphere. 


The  Railway. 


H3 


5- 

I found  the  Book  she  had  used,  and  stay’d 
For  Evening  Prayers ; in  grief’s  despite 
Felt  grief  assuaged  ; then  homeward  stray’d. 
Weary  beforehand  of  the  night. 

The  blackbird,  in  the  shadowy  wood, 
Talk’d  to  himself;  and  eastward  grew 
In  heaven  the  symbol  of  my  mood, 

Where  one  bright  star  engross’d  the  blue. 


X. 

GOING  TO  CHURCH. 


10 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 

The  Gracious  Chivalry. 

/|"AY  these  my  songs  inaugurate 
The  day  of  a new  chivalry 
Which  shall  not  feel  the  mortal  fate 
Of  fashion,  chance,  or  phantasy. 

The  ditties  of  the  knightly  time, 

The  deep-conceiving  dreams  of  youth, 
With  sweet  corroboration  chime, 

And  I believe  that  love’s  the  truth. 

I do  and  ever  shall  profess 
That  I more  tenderly  revere 
A woman  in  her  gentleness 

Than  all  things  else  I love  or  fear ; 


148 


The  Accompaniments. 


And  these  glad  songs  are  good  to  prove 
To  loyal  hearts  convincingly, 

That  he  who’s  orthodox  in  love 
Can  hold  no  kind  of  heresy. 

Long  lease  of  his  low  mind  befall 
The  man  who,  in  his  wilful  gust. 
Makes  waste  for  one,  to  others  all 
Discourteous,  frigid,  and  unjust ! 
Untrue  to  love  and  ladies  he 

Who,  scarf  on  arm  and  spear  in  rest, 
Assail’d  the  world  with  proof  that  she, 
Being  his,  was  also  nature’s  best. 

That  chivalry  do  I proclaim 

Alone  substantial,  wise,  and  good, 
Which  scorns  to  help  one  woman’s  fame 
With  treason  against  all  womanhood. 
Each  maid,  (albeit  to  me  my  own 
Appears  and  is  past  .others  rare,) 

When  aptness  makes  her  beauty  known, 
May  seem  as  singularly  fair  ; 


The  Accompaniments. 


H9 


And  each  is  justly  most  desired; 

And  no  true  Knight  will  care  to  prove 
That  there  is  more  of  what’s  admired 
In  his  than  in  another’s  love. 


1 5°  The  Accompaniments. 


II. 

Love  Liberal. 

HENEVER  I come  where  women 


are, 


“ How  sad  soe’er  I was  before, 

“ Though  like  a ship  frost-bound  and  far 
“ Withheld  in  ice  from  the  ocean’s  roar, 
“ Third-winter’d  in  that  dreadful  dock, 

“ With  stiffen’d  cordage,  sails  decay’d, 

“ And  crew  that  care  for  calm  and  shock 
“ Alike,  too  dull  to  be  dismay’d  ; 

“ Though  spirited  like  that  speedless  bark, 
“ My  cold  affections  like  the  crew, 

“ My  present  drear,  my  future  dark, 

“ The  past  too  happy  , to  be  true ; 

“ Yet  if  I come  where  women  are, 

“ How  sad  soever  I was  before. 


The  Accompaniments. 


151 


“ Then  is  my  sadness  banish’d  far, 

“ And  I am  like  that  ship  no  more  ; 

“ Or  like  that  ship  if  the  ice-field  splits, 

“ Burst  by  the  sudden  polar  Spring, 

“ And  all  thank  God  with  their  warmed  wits, 
“ And  kiss  each  other  and  dance  and  sing, 
“ And  hoist  fresh  sails  that  make  the  breeze 
“ Blow  them  along  the  liquid  sea, 

“From  the  homeless  N orth  where  life  did  freeze, 
“ Into  the  haven  where  they  would  be.” 

So  thought  the  melancholy  boy, 

Whose  love-sick  mind,  misreading  fate, 
Scarce  hoped  that  any  Queen  of  Joy 
Could  ever  stoop  to  be  his  mate. 

Thus  thinks  the  man,  who  deems,  (tho’  life 
Has  long  been  crown’d  with  youth’s  desire,) 
That  he  who  has  his  Love  to  wife 

Has  all  that  heart  may  well  require : — 
Though  bonded  unto  one,  my  best, 

My  faith  to  whom  is  pleasure  and  ease, 


i The  Accompaniments. 

Shall  I despise  or  shun  the  rest 

Of  nature’s  queens  and  priestesses  ? 
Rather  by  loving  one  I learn 
To  love  her  like,  who  still  recall 
My  nuptial  pale,  and  teach  in  turn 
That  faith  to  one  is  debt  to  all : 

For  I’m  not  of  so  dull  a wit 

As  not  to  know  that  what  I admire 
And  the  sweet  joy  of  loving  it 

Would  both  be  slain  by  false  desire; 
Therefore,  though  singly  her’s  till  death, 
(And  after,  I hope,)  with  all  I’m  free, 
Inhaling  love’s  delighted  breath 
In  the  bright  air  of  chastity. 


The  Accompaniments. 


153 


III. 

The  Sentences. 


1. 

T1  7E  fast,  give  alms,  pray,  weep,  and  wake, 
* * And  wear  our  hear  ts  out,  o’er  the  W ord  : 

Ah,  less  of  this,  and  let  us  make 
More  melody  unto  the  Lord ! 

2. 

Happy,  if  on  the  tempest’s  gloom 
Thou  seest  the  covenant  of  God ; 

But  far,  far  happier  he  on  whom 
The  kiss  works  better  than  the  rod. 


154 


The  Accompaniments . 


3- 

O,  too  absurd  for  pity  or  blame, 

Prostrate,  our  backs  against  the  Sun, 
We  mourn  the  shadow  of  our  shame, 
When  getting  up  would  make  it  none. 


IDYL  X. 


GOING  TO  CHURCH. 


i. 

T WOKE  at  three ; for  I was  bid 
A To  breakfast  with  the  Dean  at  nine, 

♦ 

And  take  his  girls  to  Church.  I slid 
My  curtain,  found  the  season  fine, 

And  could  not  rest,  so  rose.  The  air 
Was  dark  and  sharp;  the  roosted  birds 
Cheep’d,  “ Here  am  I,  Sweet ; are  you  there  ?’ 

On  Avon’s  misty  flats  the  herds 
Expected,  comfortless,  the  day, 

Which  slowly  fired  the  clouds  above; 


156  Going  to  Church. 

The  cock  scream’d,  somewhere  far  away; 

In  sleep  the  matrimonial  dove 
Was  brooding;  no  wind  waked  the  wood, 
Nor  moved  the  midnight  marish  damps, 
Nor  thrill’d  the  poplar;  quiet  stood 
The  chestnut  with  its  thousand  lamps; 
The  moon  shone  yet,  but  weak  and  drear, 
And  seem’d  to  watch,  with  bated  breath, 
The  landscape,  all  made  sha*p  and  clear 
By  stillness,  as  a face  by  death. 


2. 

My  prayers  for  her  being  done,  I took 
Occasion  by  the  quiet  hour 
To  find  and  know,  by  Rule  and  Book 
The  rights  of  love’s  beloved  pow? 

a 

Fronting  the  question  withou'  'VK 
Not  ignorant  that  evermore, 


Going  to  Church.  157 

If  men  will  stoop  to  kiss  the  Truth, 

She  lifts  them  higher  than  before, 

I from  above  such  light  required 
As  now  should  once  for  all  destroy 
The  folly  which  at  times  desired 
A sanction  for  so  great  a joy. 

4- 

Thenceforth,  and  through  that  prayer,  I trod 
A path  with  no  suspicions  dim ; 

I loved  her  in  the  name  of  God, 

And  for  the  ray  she  was  of  Him ; 

I ought  to  admire  much  more,  not  less  : 

Her  beauty  was  a godly  grace  : 

The  mystery  of  loveliness, 

Which  made  an  altar  of  her  face, 

Was  not  of  the  flesh,  though  that  was  fair, 
But  a most  pure  and  lambent  light, 
Without  a name,  by  which  the  rare 
And  virtuous  spirit  flamed  to  sight. 


158  Going  to  Church. 

If  oft,  in  love,  effect  lack’d  cause, 

And  cause  effect,  ’twere  vain  to  soar 
Reasons  to  seek  for  that  which  was 
Reason  itself,  or  something  more. 

My  joy  was  no  idolatry 

Upon  the  ends  of  the  vile  earth  bent, 
For  when  I loved  her  most  then  I 

Most  yearn’d  for  more  divine  content. 
And  felt  her  charms,  less  what  they  were. 
Than  what  foretold,  not  slow  to  infer 
How  loving  and  how  lovely  fair 
Must  He  be  who  had  fashion’d  her. 
That  other  doubt,  which,  like  a ghost 
At  all  love’s  banquets  haunted  me, 
Was  thus  resolv’d:  Him  loved  I most. 
But  her  I loved  most  sensibly  : 

Lastly,  I knew  my  hope  unblamed 
By  any  soil  of  sensual  smirch  ; 

And  forth  I went,  no  whit  ashamed 
T o take  my  passion  into  Church ; 


Going  to  Church. 


1 


Grateful  and  glad  to  think  that  all 
Such  cogitations  would  seem  vain 
To  her,  whose  nature’s  lighter  fall 

Made  no  divorce  ’twixt  heart  and  brain. 

5- 

I found  them,  with  exactest  grace 

And  fresh  as  Spring  for  Spring  attired ; 
And,  by  the  radiance  in  her  face, 

I saw  she  felt  she  was  admired ; 

And,  through  the  common  luck  of  love, 

A moment’s  fortunate  delay, 

To  fit  the  little  lilac  glove, 

Gave  me  her  arm ; and  I and  they 
(They  true  to  this  and  every  hour, 

As  if  attended  on  by  Time), 

Went  into  Church  while  yet  the  tower 
Was  warbling  with  the  finish’d  chime. 

6. 

Her  soft  song,  singularly  heard 

Beside  me,  in  the  Psalms,  withstood. 


lbo 


Going  to  Church. 


The  roar  of  voices,  like  a bird 
Sole  singing  in  a windy  wood ; 

And,  when  we  knelt,  she  seem’d  to  be 
An  angel  teaching  me  to  pray ; 

And  all  through  the  sweet  Liturgy 
My  spirit  rejoiced  without  allay, 

Being  for  once  borne  clearly  above 
All  banks  and  bars  of  ignorance, 

By  this  bright  spring-tide  of  pure  love. 

And  floated  in  a free  expanse. 

Whence  it  could  see  from  side  to  side. 

The  obscurity  from  every  part 
Winnow’d  away  and  purified 
By  the  vibrations  of  my  heart. 

7- 

The  Dean’s  Text,  (oft  it  happens  thus,) 
Most  apt  to  what  my  thoughts  employ’d, 
Was  Paul’s  word  to  those,  infamous, 

Of  natural  affection  void. 


Going  to  Church.  i6* 

He  preach’d  but  what  the  conscience  saith 
To  those  blest  few  that  listen  well : 

“No  fruit  can  come  of  that  man’s  faith 
Who  is  to  Nature  infidel. 

God  stands  not  with  Himself  at  strife : 

His  Work  is  first,  His  Word  is  next: 

T wo  sacred  tomes,  one  Book  of  Life ; 

The  comment  this,  and  that  the  text. 

Ill  worship  they  who  drop  the  Creed, 

And  take  their  chance  with  Jew  and  Turk  ; 
But  not  so  ill  as  they  who  read 

The  Word,  and  doubt  the  greater  Work.” 


II 


XI. 


THE  BALL. 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 

The  Daughter  of  Eve. 

l. 

rpHOUGH  woman  be  the  Child  of  Eve, 
"*■  Death- wounded  to  the  dear  heart’s  core ; 
Shall  man  for  her  sad  lineage  grieve, 

Man,  suffering  less  and  sinning  more? 

No:  he  whose  praises  do  not  pile 
The  measure  of  her  just  desert, 

Impugns  the  logic  of  her  smile, 

Which  gives  the  balm  and  takes  the  hurt. 
For  my  part,  when,  rejoiced,  I trace 
Her  various  worth,  and  how  she  is 


i66 


The  Accompaniments. 


My  most  effectual  means  of  grace, 

And  casket  of  my  worldly  bliss, 

I,  looking  round,  do  nowhere  see 
That  second  good  which  doth  afford 
The  like  compulsion,  urging  me 

With  a pure  mind  to  praise  the  Lord. 


2. 

Her  meek  and  gentle  mood  o’erstept 
Withers  my  love,  that  lightly  scans 
The  rest,  and  does  in  her  accept 

All  her  own  faults,  but  none  of  man’s. 
I have  no  heart  to  judge  her  ill, 

Or  honour  her  fair  station  less, 

Who,  with  a woman’s  errors,  still 
Preserves  a woman’s  gentleness; 

For  thus  I think,  if  any  I see 

Who  falls  short  of  my  high  desire, 

“ How  admirable  would  she  be, 

Could  she  but  know  how  I admire !” 


The  Accompaniments. 

Or  fails  she,  though  from  blemish  clear, 
To  charm  to  the  full,  ’tis  my  defect; 

And  so  my  thought,  with  reverent  fear 
To  err  by  doltish  disrespect, 

Imputes  love’s  great  regard,  and  says, 

“ Though  unapparent  ’tis  to  me, 

Be  sure  this  Queen  some  other  sways 
“ With  well  perceiv’d  supremacy.” 

3- 

Behold  the  worst ! Light  from  above 
On  the  blank  ruin  writes  “ Forbear : 

“ Her  first  crime  was  unguarded  love, 
“And  all  the  rest  was  mere  despair.” 

4- 

Discrown’d,  dejected,  but  not  lost, 

O,  sad  one,  with  no  more  a name 

Or  place  in  all  the  honour’d  host 
Of  maiden  and  of  matron  fame. 


168  The  Accompaniments. 

Grieve  on;  but,  if  thou  grievest  right, 

’Tis  not  that  these  abhor  thy  state, 

Nor  would’st  thou  lower  an  inch  the  height 
Which  makes  thy  casting  down  so  great. 
Good  is  thy  lot  in  its  degree ; 

For  hearts  that  verily  repent, 

Are  burden’d  with  impunity, 

And  comforted  by  chastisement. 

Sweet  patience  sanctify  thy  woes ! 

And  doubt  not  but  our  God  is  just. 
Albeit  unscath’d  thy  traitor  goes, 

And  thou  art  stricken  to  the  dust. 

That  penalty’s  the  best  to  bear 

Which  follows  soonest  on  the  sin ; 

And  guilt’s  a game  where  losers  fare 
Better  than  those  who  seem  to  win. 


The  Accompaniments. 


II. 

The  Sentences. 


l. 

JT'RACTIONS  indefinitely  small 
Of  interests  infinitely  great, 
Count  in  Love’s  learned  wit  for  all. 
And  have  the  dignity  of  fate. 


2. 

Not  to  unveil  before  the  gaze 
Of  an  imperfect  sympathy, 

In  aught  we  are,  is  the  sweet  praise 
And  the  main  sum  of  modesty. 


170 


The  Accompaniments. 


3- 

Love  blabb’d  of  is  a great  decline; 

A careless  word  unsanctions  sense ; 

But  he  who  casts  Heaven’s  truth  to  swine 
Consummates  all  incontinence. 


IDYL  XI. 


THE  BALL. 


1. 

TITY  memory  of  heaven  awakes : 

“ She’s  not  of  the  earth,  although  her 
light, 

“ As  lantern’d  by  her  body,  makes 
“ A piece  of  it  past  bearing  bright. 

“ So  innocently  proud  and  fair 

“ She  is,  that  Wisdom  sings  for  glee 
“And  Folly  dies,  breathing  one  air 
“ With  such  a bright-cheek’d  chastity ; 
“And  though  her  charms  are  a strong  law 
“ Compelling  all  men  to  admire, 


l72 


The  Ball. 


“ They  are  so  clad  with  lovely  awe 
“None  but  the  noble  dares  desire. 

“ He  who  would  seek  to  make  her  his 
“ Will  comprehend  that  souls  of  grace 
“ Own  sweet  repulsion,  and  that  ’tis 
“ The  quality  of  their  embrace 
“To  be  like  the  majestic  reach 
“ Of  coupled  suns,  that,  from  afar, 

“ Mingle  their  mutual  spheres,  while  each 
“ Circles  the  twin  obsequious  star : 

“And  in  the  warmth  of  hand  to  hand, 

“ Of  heart  to  heart,  he’ll  vow  to  note 
“And  reverently  understand 

“ How  the  two  spirits  shine  remote; 

“And  ne’er  to  numb  fine  honour’s  nerve, 

“ Nor  let  sweet  awe  in  passion  melt, 

“Nor  fail  by  courtesies  to  observe 

“ The  space  which  makes  attraction  felt; 

“ Nor  cease  to  guard  like  life  the  sense 

“ Which  tells  him  that  the  embrace  of  love 


“Is  o’er  a gulf  of  difference 

“ Love  cannot  sound,  nor  death  remove.” 


2. 

This  learn’d  I,  watching  where  she  danced, 
Native  to  melody  and  light, 

And  now  and  then  toward  me  glanced, 
Pleased,  as  I hoped,  to  please  my  sight. 

3- 

Ah,  love  to  speak  was  impotent, 

Till  music  did  a tongue  confer, 

And  I ne’er  knew  what  music  meant, 

Until  I danced  to  it  with  her. 

Too  proud  of  the  sustaining  power 
Of  my,  till  then,  unblemish’d  joy, 

My  passion,  for  reproof,  that  hour 
Tasted  mortality’s  alloy, 

And  bore  me  down  an  eddying  gulf : 

I wish’d  the  world  might  run  to  wreck, 


m 


The  Ball. 


So  I but  once  might  fling  myself 
About  her  beautiful  white  neck. 

I ask’d  her,  would  she  waltz,  a dance 
We  hated;  and  I saw  the  rays 
Withdrawn,  which  did  till  then  enhance 
Her  fairness  with  its  thanks  for  praise. 
She’d  dance  the  next  quadrille,  then?  “Yes.” 

“No,”  had  not  fall’n  with  half  the  force. 
She  was  fulfil’d  with  gentleness, 

And  I with  measureless  remorse; 

And,  ere  I slept,  on  bended  knee 
I own’d  myself,  with  many  a tear, 
Unseasonable,  disorderly, 

And  a deranger  of  love’s  sphere; 

Gave  thanks  that,  when  we  stumble  and  fall. 
We  hurt  ourselves,  and  not  the  Truth, 
And,  rising,  found  its  brightness  all 
The  brighter  through  the  tears  of  ruth. 


The  Ball. 


*75 


4- 

Nor  was  my  hope  that  night  made  less, 
Though  order’d,  humbled,  and  reproved: 
Her  farewell  did  her  heart  express 

As  much,  but  not  with  anger,  moved : 
My  grief  had  all  my  soul  betray’d ; 

And,  in  the  night  of  my  despair, 

My  love,  a flower  of  noon  afraid, 

Divulged  its  fulness  unaware. 

I saw  she  saw : and,  O,  sweet  Heaven, 
Could  my  glad  mind  have  credited 
That  influence  had  to  me  been  given 
To  affect  her  so,  I should  have  said 
That,  though  she  from  herself  conceal’d 
Love’s  felt  delight  and  fancied  harm, 
They  made  her  face  the  jousting  field 
Of  joy  and  beautiful  alarm. 


4r 


XII. 

THE  ABDICATION. 


12 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 

The  Chace. 


l. 

OHE  wearies  with  an  ill  unknown ; 
^ In  sleep  she  sobs  and  seems  to  float, 
A water-lily,  all  alone 

Within  a lonely  castle-moat; 

And  as  the  full-moon,  spectral,  lies 
Within  the  crescent’s  gleaming  arms, 
The  present  shows  her  heedless  eyes 
A future  dim  with  vague  alarms : 

She  sees,  and  yet  she  scarcely  sees ; 

For,  life-in-life  not  yet  begun, 


i8o 


The  Accompaniments. 


Too  many  are  life’s  mysteries 

For  thought  to  fix  ’tward  any  one. 


2. 

She’s  told  that  maidens  are  by  youths 
Extremely  honour’d  and  desired; 

And  sighs,  “ If  those  sweet  tales  be  truths, 
What  bliss  to  be  so  much  admired  ! ” 
The  suitors  come ; she  sees  them  grieve : 

Her  coldness  fills  them  with  despair : 
She’d  pity  if  she  could  believe : 

She’s  sorry  that  she  cannot  care. 

3- 

Who’s  this  that  meets  her  on  her  way  ? 

Comes  he  as  enemy,  or  friend  ; 

Or  both  ? Her  bosom  seems  to  say 
He  cannot  pass,  and  there  an  end. 
Whom  does  he  love  ? Does  he  confer 
His  heart  on  worth  that  answers  his  ? 


The  Accompaniments. 

Perhaps  he’s  come  to  worship  her : 

She  fears,  she  hopes,  she  thinks  he  is 

4- 

Advancing  stepless,  quick,  and  still, 

As  in  the  grass  a serpent  glides, 

He  fascinates  her  fluttering  will, 

Then  terrifies  with  dreadful  strides  : 

At  first,  there’s  nothing  to  resist : 

He  fights  with  all  the  forms  of  peace  , 
He  comes  about  her  like  a mist, 

With  subtle,  swift,  unseen  increase ; 
And  then,  unlook’d  for,  strikes  amain 
Some  stroke  that  frightens  her  to  death 
And  grows  all  harmlessness  again, 

Ere  she  can  cry,  or  get  her  breath. 

At  times  she  stops,  and  stands  at  bay ; 

But  he,  in  all  more  strong  than  she, 
Subdues  her  with  his  pale  dismay, 

Or  more  admired  audacity. 


182 


The  Accompaniments. 


3- 

All  people  speak  of  him  with  praise  : 

How  wise  his  talk;  how  sweet  his  tone 
What  manly  worship  in  his  gaze  ! 

It  nearly  makes  her  heart  his  own. 
With  what  an  air  he  speaks  her  name : 

His  manner  always  recollects 
Her  sex : and  still  the  woman’s  claim 
Is  taught  its  scope  by  his  respects. 

Her  charms,  perceived  to  prosper  first 
In  his  beloved  advertencies, 

When  in  her  glass  they  are  rehearsed, 
Prove  his  most  powerful  allies. 

6. 

Ah,  whither  shall  a maiden  flee, 

When  a bold  youth  so  swift  pursues, 
And  siege  of  tenderest  courtesy, 

With  hope  perseverant,  still  renews  ! 


The  Accompaniments. 


183 


Why  fly  so  fast?  Her  flatter’d  breast 
Thanks  him  who  finds  her  fair  and  good ; 

She  loves  her  fears ; veil’d  joys  arrest 
The  foolish  terrors  of  her  blood : 

By  secret,  sweet  degrees,  her  heart, 

Vanquish’d,  takes  warmth  from  his  desire . 

She  makes  it  more,  with  bashful  art, 

And  fuels  love’s  late  dreaded  fire. 

7- 

The  gallant  credit  he  accords 
To  all  the  signs  of  good  in  her, 

Redeems  itself ; his  praiseful  words 
What  they  attribute  still  confer. 

Her  heart  is  thrice  as  rich  in  bliss, 

She’s  three  times  gentler  than  before : 

He  gains  a right  to  call  her  his, 

Now  she  through  him  is  so  much  more! 

Ah,  might  he,  when  by  doubts  aggrieved, 
Behold  his  tokens  next  her  breast, 


The  Accompaniments. 


184 

At  all  his  words  and  sighs  perceived 
Against  its  blythe  upheaval  press’d. 

But  still  she  flies : should  she  be  won, 

It  must  not  be  believed  or  thought 
She  yields : she’s  chased  to  death,  undone. 
Surprised,  and  violently  caught. 


The  Accompaniments. 


.8* 


II. 

The  Sentences. 


I. 

/ ■ V3  love  and  want,  ah,  weal  in  woe; 

To  love  and  win,  ah,  woe  in  weal; 
To  feel  so  happy,  and  to  know 

m 

We’re  so  much  happier  than  we  feel ! 


2. 

If  I the  first  have  bravely  worn 
A Lady’s  scarf  for  singing-robe, 
May  I,  for  my  reward,  be  borne 
To  earth  like  Henry  Frauenlob. 


i86 


The  Accompaniments. 


3- 

Pure  preludes  of  effectual  peace 

Breathed  ’mid  the  deafening  din  of  war, 
When  that  and  noisier  songs  decease, 

The  world  will  love  you  more  and  more. 


IDYL  XII. 

THE  ABDICATION. 


1. 

YT'ROM  little  signs,  like  little  stars, 

Whose  faint  impression  on  the  sense 
The  very  looking  straight  at  mars, 

Or  only  seen  by  confluence; 

From  instinct  of  a mutual  thought, 

Whence  sanctity  of  manners  flow’d ; 
From  chance  unconscious,  and  from  what 
Concealment,  overconscious,  show’d; 

Her  wrist’s  less  weight  upon  my  arm, 

Her  lowlier  mien ; that  match’d  with  this 


i88 


The  Abdication. 


I found,  and  felt  with  strange  alarm, 
I stood  committed  to  my  bliss. 


2. 

I grew  assured,  before  I ask’d, 

That  she’d  be  mine  without  reserve, 

And  in  her  unclaim’d  graces  bask’d, 

At  leisure,  till  the  time  should  serve. 

With  just  enough  of  dread  to  thrill 
The  hope,  and  make  it  trebly  dear; 

Thus  loath  to  speak  the  word  to  kill 
Either  the  hope  or  happy  fear. 

3- 

Till  once,  through  lanes  returning  late, 

Her  laughing  sisters  lagg’d  behind  ; 

And,  ere  we  reach’d  her  father’s  gate, 

We  paused  with  one  presentient  mind; 

And,  in  the  dim  and  perfumed  mist, 

Their  coming  stay’d,  who,  blythe  and  free, 


The  Abdication. 


189 


And  very  women,  loved  to  assist 
A lover’s  opportunity. 

4* 

Twice  rose,  twice  died  my  trembling  word: 

The  faint  and  frail  Cathedral  chimes 

Spake  time  in  music,  and  we  heard 

The  chafers  rustling  in  the  limes. 

Her  dress,  that  touch’d  me  where  I stood ; 

The  warmth  of  her  confided  arm ; 

Her  bosom’s  gentle  neighbourhood ; 

Her  pleasure  in  her  power  to  charm  ; 

Her  look,  her  love,  her  form,  her  touch, 

The  least  seem’d  most  by  blissful  turn, 

Blissful  but  that  it  pleased  too  much, 

And  taught  the  wayward  soul  to  yearn. 

» 

It  was  as  if  a harp  with  wires 

Was  traversed  by  the  breath  I drew  ; 
And,  oh,  sweet  meeting  of  desires, 

She,  answering,  own’d  that  she  loved  too. 


190 


The  Abdication. 


S- 

So  Honor  was  to  be  my  bride ! 

The  hopeless  heights  of  hope  were  scaled 
The  summit  won,  I paused  and  sigh’d, 

As  if  success  itself  had  fail’d  : 

Assured  of  this  surpassing  hope, 

(Too  great  to  humble  or  to  hurt 
By  any  measuring  of  its  scope 
With  my  most  utter  non-desert,) 

It  seem’d  as  if  my  lips  approach’d 
To  touch  at  Tantalus’  reward, 

And  rashly  on  Eden  life  encroach’d, 
Half-blinded  by  the  flaming  sword. 

6. 

The  whole  world’s  wealthiest  and  its  best, 

So  fiercely  follow’d,  seem’d,  when  found. 
Poor  in  its  need  to  be  possess’d, 

Poor  from  its  very  want  of  bound. 


The  Abdication. 


191 


By  that  consenting  scared  and  shock’d, 

Such  change  came  o’er  her  mien  and  mood 
That  I felt  startled  and  half-mock’d 
As  winning  what  I had  not  woo’d ; 

And  my  first  motion  was  to  disguise 
My  heart’s  fantastical  annoy, 

Lest  she,  discerning,  should  despise 
Its  small  capacity  for  joy. 

7- 

My  queen  was  crouching  at  my  side, 

By  love  unsceptred  and  brought  low, 

Her  awful  garb  of  maiden  pride 
All  melted  into  tears  like  snow. 

The  mistress  of  my  reverent  thought, 

Whose  praise  was  all  I ask’d  of  fame. 

In  my  close- watch’d  approval  sought 
Protection  as  from  danger  and  blame. 

Her  spirit,  which  I loved  to  invest, 

With  pity  for  my  poor  desert, 


192 


The  Abdication. 


Buried  its  face  within  my  breast, 

Like  a pet  fawn  by  hunters  hurt. 

8. 

Sweet  are  the  flatteries  of  love : 

They  neither  would  nor  do  deceive, 
Albeit  they  lift  our  hearts  above 

All  flatteries  which  our  hearts  believe : 
But  this  of  making  me  her  lord 
Appear’d  such  passionate  excess, 

I almost  wish’d  her  state  restored, 

I almost  wish’d  she  loved  me  less. 

I was  abash’d,  and  look’d  aside 
From  honour  I might  not  refuse, 

Until  I saw  my  shame  was  pride, 

Since  love  in  love  discerns  all  dues, 
And  never  of  lesser  payment  speaks, 

But  loves  to  love  for  love’s  sole  sake, 
And  in  its  object  only  seeks 

That  worth  which  love  itself  can  wake. 


The  Abdication. 


m 


9- 

Of  this  high  truth  intelligent, 

I buried  soon,  in  the  deep  sea 
Of  a most  near  and  dear  content, 

All  pride  and  all  humility : 

So  she  beside  me  sat  her  down, 
Excused  from  dignity  and  care, 
And  I submitted  to  the  crown 

No  choice  was  left  me  but  to  wear. 


l3 


THE  EPILOGUE, 


THE  EPILOGUE. 


1. 

T TIS  “Book  the  First”  so  finish’d,  Vaughan, 
A Elated  with  his  partner’s  praise, 
March’d  laughing  up  and  down  the  lawn, 
With  brows  that  seem’d  to  feel  the  bays. 
She  thought  the  Critics  must  admire 

What  seem’d  to  her  such  lovely  rhymes ! 

“ Nay,”  answer’d  he,  with  rising  ire, 

As  boding  “Blackwood”  and  “ The  Times,” 
“ A bard  may  reckon  his  degree 

“ More  high  the  more  their  welcome’s  foul ; 


198 


The  Epilogue. 


“ For  music’s  mystic  property 

“ Is  to  make  dogs  and  critics  howl. 

“ I’m  not  a chartist  or  a lord; 

“To  strut  on  stilts  is  not  my  use ; 

“ And  my  vain  claim  to  their  good  word 
“ Is  nothing  but  a noble  Muse. — 

“ But  we’ll  not  mind  this  modern  curse 
“ Of  petty  printing  wits,  who  class 
“ The  pure  gold  of  a perfect  verse 

“ Below  like  bulk  of  lacquer’d  brass ! ” 
Then,  boasting  Songs  to  come,  he  said 
The  strains  with  which  the  next  began 
Pass’d  all  he’d  written  yet ; and  read 
The  opening  verses.  Thus  they  ran : 


2. 

“’Tis  so  beyond  conceiving  sweet 
“To  love  and  be  beloved  in  turn, 

“ That  lovers  talk,  whene’er  they  meet, 
“ Only  their  joy  to  teach  and  learn. 


The  Epilogue. 


l99 


“ They  tell  how  dearly  they  adore  ; 

“ Will  not  believe  that  they’re  believed ; 

“ And  tell  the  tidings  o’er  and  o’er, 

“ And  kiss  to  make  their  words  conceived ; 
“ And  then  take  hands  with  sighs’  soft  speech 
“ And  tell  the  same  sweet  tale  again ; 

“ The  same  sweet  mystery  learn  and  teach ; 

“ And  kiss  and  kiss  to  make  it  plain. 

“ Beloved  tautologies  of  love ! 

“ Which  ever,  ever  both  repeat ; 

“ Which  never,  never  seem  to  prove 
“ The  point  to  either’s  fond  conceit ; 

“ Because,  indeed, — ” 

3- 

But  here  his  Wife, 

All  praise  till  now,  objected  : “ This,” 

Said  she,  “ you  did  not  take  from  life  : 

“ You  should  not  make  the  lady  kiss.” 

The  fault  confess’d  with  light  demur, 

Those  lines  he  promised  to  remove. 


200 


The  Epilogue. 


Fixing  in  colloquy  with  her, 

As  canons  of  their  Court  of  Love : 

“ Like  and  like  chime,  same  and  same  jar : 
“If  she  to  womanhood  is  true, 

“To  manhood  he,  their  feelings  are 

“ In  difference  match’d,  like  red  and  blue.” 

4* 

Then,  pondering  what  the  difference  was, 

He  ask’d  her  thrice  if  she’d  be  pleased 

To  help  his  Muse  : but  she  grew  cross, 

And  begg’d  that  she  might  not  be  teased. 

“ Well,  till  you  tell  me  freely  why 

“ You  love  me,  you  shall  have  no  kiss; 

“ And  so,  till  dinner-time,  good-bye  ! ” 

Said  he,  sure  to  prevail  by  this. 

She : “ Dearest,  you’ll  not  leave  me  so ! ” 

He : “ Give  the  reasons,  one  and  all.” 

She,  laughing : “ Love,  I do  not  know, 

“ Unless  it  is  that  you’re  so  tall.” 


The  Epilogue. 


201 


On  tiptoe,  then,  she  stood  to  touch 

His  lips  with  her’s,  but  three  times  miss’d, 
And  pouted.  “ Nay,  then,  tell  how  much?  ” 
“ How  can  I,  if  you’ll  not  be  kiss’d  ?” 
Baffled,  he  thought  the  difference  o’er ; 

Soon  smiled,  and  said  he  knew  it  well : 
But,  good  World,  Love  shows  Poets  more 
Than  you  deserve  that  they  should  tell. 


END  OF  THE  BETROTHAL. 


THE 


ANGEL  IN  THE  HOUSE 


THE  ESPOUSALS 


By  COVENTRY  PATMORE. 


Par  la  grace  infinie,  Dieu  les  mist  au  monde  ensemble. 

Rousier  des  Dames . 


NEW  YORK 

E.  P.  DUTTON  AND  COMPANY 
713  Broadway 
1876 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

Prologue n 

I.  Beulah 19 

The  Accompaniments. 

1.  The  Song  of  Songs . 21 

2.  Orpheus 23 

3.  The  Sentences 25 

Idyl  I.  Beulah 27 

II.  Aunt  Maude 33 

The  Accompaniments. 

1.  The  Capture 35 

2.  The  Sentences . ...  41 

Idyl  IT.  Aunt  Maude 43 

III.  The  County  Ball 51 

The  Accompaniments. 

1.  Love  and  Honour 53 

2.  Love  Ceremonious .....  55 

3.  The  Sentences 57 

Idyl  III.  The  County  Ball 59 


viii  Contents. 

Page 

IV.  The  Queen’s  Room 65 

The  Accompaniments. 

1.  Accepted ...  67 

2 Rejected 69 

3.  The  Sentences 71 

Idyl  IV.  The  Queen’s  Room 73 

V.  The  Love-Letters 79 

The  Accompaniments. 

1.  The  Paradox 81 

2.  The  Sentences 85 

Idyl  V.  The  Love-Letters 87 

VI.  The  Revulsion 95 

The  Accompaniments. 

1.  The  Pearl 97 

2.  Rachel 99 

3.  The  Sentences 101 

Idyl  VI.  The  Revulsion 103 

VII.  Tete-a-Tete 109 

The  Accompaniments. 

1.  The  Mistress 111 

2.  The  Sentences  115 

Idyl  VII.  Tete-a-Tete. 117 

VIII.  The  Friends 123 

The  Accompaniments. 

1 . Beauty 1 2 5 


Contents.  ix 

Page 

2.  Wisdom 126 

3-  Joy 130 

4.  The  Sentences 13 1 

Idyl  VIII.  The  Friends 133 

IX.  The  Regatta .» 139 

The  Accompaniments. 

1.  “ Platonic  Love  ” 141 

2.  Night  Thoughts 143 

3.  The  Sentences 145 

Idyl  IX.  The  Regatta 147 

X.  The  Eve  of  the  Wedding 153 

The  Accompaniments. 

1.  The  Meditation 155 

2.  The  Sentences 159 

Idyl  X.  The  Eve  of  the  Wedding 161 

XI.  The  Departure 167 

The  Accompaniments. 

1.  Womanhood 169 

2.  The  Symbol 17 1 

3.  The  Sentences 173 

Idyl  XI.  The  Departure-* 175 

XII.  By  the  Sea 181 

The  Accompaniments. 

1.  A Demonstration 183 


X 


Contents. 


Page 

2.  The  Amaranth 185 

3.  Valedictory 187 

4.  The  Sentences 189 

Idyl  XII.  By  the  Sea 191 

The  Epilogue 197 


PROLOGUE. 


' 


THE  PROLOGUE. 


T TER  sons  pursue  the  butterflies, 

Her  baby  daughter  mocks  the  doves 
With  throbbing  coo:  in  his  fond  eyes 
She’s  Venus  with  her  little  Loves; 

Her  step’s  an  honour  to  the  earth, 

Her  form’s  the  native-land  of  grace, 

And,  lo,  his  coming  lights  with  mirth 
Beauty’s  metropolis,  her  face ! 

Of  such  a lady  proud’s  the  lord ; 

And  that  her  happy  bosom  knows : 

She  takes  his  arm  without  a word, 

In  lanes  of  laurel  and  of  rose. 


14 


The  Prologue. 


Ten  years  to-day  has  she  been  his ; 

He  but  begins  to  understand. 

He  says,  the  dignity  and  bliss 

She  gave  him  when  she  gave  her  hand 
And  she  replies,  He  disenchants 

The  Past ! and,  flatter’d,  answers  he. 

For  him  the  Present  nothing  wants 
But  briefness  to  be  ecstasy! 

He  lauds  her  grace;  Its  fullest  glow 
The  years,  which  dim  all  else,  defer: 

She  laughs  and  says,  ’Twere  always  so 
Were  all  wives  loved  as  he  loves  her. 
Therewith  her  soft  arm  presses  his 
Against  her  fond,  maternal  breast : 

He  answers,  Each  new  honour  is 

The  sum,  my  Sweet,  of  all  the  rest ! 
And  whilst  the  Wood-dove,  mocking,  coo’d, 
They  praised  the  days  that  they’d  been 
wed, 

At  cost  of  those  in  which  they  woo’d, 


The  Prologue. 


lS 


Till  every  thing  was  three  times  said ; 
And  words  were  growing  vain,  when  Briggs, 
Factotum,  Butler,  Footman,  Groom, 

Who  help’d  the  gardener,  fed  the  pigs, 
Preserv’d  the  game,  and  drove  the 
brougham, 

Brought  in  the  wish’d-for  post-bag,  fill’d, 
Like  Fame’s  puff’d  cheek,  with  Vaughan’s 
success. 

A letter  from  the  Laureate  thrill’d 

Her  voice  that  read  it;  but  the  Press, 
Daily  and  weekly,  death-notes  toll’d: 

Some  call’d  him  harsh,  but  full  of  fire, 
Some  call’d  him  musical,  but  cold ; 

And  earn’d  his  wife’s  contempt  and  ire. 
He  laugh’d;  but,  seeing  his  Poem  named 
With  Holofernes  Brobdignag, 

And  nine  new  Miltons  more,  exclaim’d, 
With  patience  that  began  to  flag, 

“I,  servant  to  the  Truth  in  times 


i6 


The  Prologue. 


“ When  gaudy  words  are  more  than  wit, 
“And  diligent  in  all  my  rhymes 

“ The  truth  with  truest  phrase  to  fit, 
“Am  unsolicitous  to  earn 

“ Mock  laurels,  and  amaze  with  show 
“ The  vulgar,  who  will  nothing  learn 
“ But  that  which  they  already  know. 

“ Yet  Love,  requiring  language  high 
“ Beyond  our  tongue’s  extremest  reach, 

“ May  class  me,  to  the  careless  eye, 

“ With  modern  mountebanks  of  speech : 
“ But  we’ll  our  hearts  in  patience  keep, 
“Till  this  indignity  be  past, 

“ Sure  that  the  worthless  oyster-heap 

“ Shall  waste,  and  show  the  pearls  at 
last.” 

With  boasting  calm’d,  his  “ Second  Book,” 
For  this  tenth  festival  kept  close, 

He  thus  commenced,  while  o’er  them  shook 
The  laurel  married  with  the  rose. 


The  Prologue. 


l7 


“The  pulse  of  War,  whose  bloody  heats 
“ Sane  purposes  insanely  work, 

“Now  with  fraternal  frenzy  beats, 

“And  binds  the  Christian  to  the  Turk, 
“And  shrieking  fifes” — 

3- 

But,  with  a roar, 

In  rush’d  the  Loves ; the  tallest  roll’d 
A hedgehog  from  his  pinafore, 

Which  saved  his  fingers : Baby,  bold, 
Touch’d  it,  and  stared,  and  scream’d  for  life, 
And  stretch’d  her  hand  for  Vaughan  to 
kiss, 

Who  hugg’d  his  Pet,  and  ask’d  his  Wife, 
“ Is  this  for  love,  or  love  for  this  ? ” 

But  she  turn’d  pale,  for  now  the  beast 
Found  stock-still  in  the  rabbit-trap, 

And  feigning  so  to  be  deceased, 


2 


18  The  Prologue. 

And  laid  by  Walter  in  her  lap, 
Unglobed  himself,  and  show’d  his  snout, 
And  fell,  scatt’ring  the  Loves  amain, 
With  shriek,  with  laughter,  and  with  shout; 

And  peace  at  last  restored  again, 

The  Bard,  who  this  untimely  hitch 
Bore  with  a calm  magnanimous, 

(The  hedgehog  kick’d  into  a ditch, 

And  Venus  sooth’d,)  proceeded  thus: 


T. 


BEULAH. 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 

The  Song  of  Songs. 

npHE  pulse  of  War,  whose  bloody  heats 
Sane  purposes  insanely  work, 

Now  with  fraternal  frenzy  beats, 

And  binds  the  Christian  to  the  Turk, 
And  shrieking  fifes  and  braggart  flags, 
Through  quiet  England,  teach  our  breath 
The  courage  corporate  that  drags 
The  coward  to  heroic  death. 

Too  late  for  song!  Who  henceforth  sings, 
Must  fledge  his  heavenly  flight  with  more 


22 


The  Accompaniments . 


Song-worthy  and  heroic  things 

Than  hasty,  home-destroying  War. 
While  might  and  right  are  not  agreed, 
And  battle  thus  is  yet  to  wage, 

So  long  let  laurels  be  the  meed 
Of  soldier  as  of  poet  sage : 

But  men  await  the  Tale  of  Love, 

And  weary  of  the  Tale  of  Troy; 
Lift  me,  O Muse,  myself  above, 

To  win  the  honour  and  the  joy! 


The  Accompaniments. 


23 


II. 

Orpheus. 

npHE  music  of  the  Sirens  found 

Ulysses  weak,  though  cords  were 
strong ; 

But  happier  Orpheus  stood  unbound, 

And  shamed  it  with  a sweeter  song. 

His  mode  be  mine.  Of  Heav’n  I ask, 
May  I,  with  heart-persuading  might, 
Pursue  the  Poet’s  sacred  task 
Of  superseding  faith  by  sight, 

Till  ev’n  the  witless  Gadarene, 

Preferring  Christ  to  swine,  shall  know 
That  life  is  sweetest  when  it’s  clean: 

To  prouder  folly  let  me  show 


*4 


The  Accompaniments. 


Earth  by  divine  light  made  divine; 

And  let  the  saints,  who  hear  my  word, 
Say,  “ Lo,  the  clouds  begin  to  shine 
“ About  the  coming  of  the  Lord ! ” 


The  Accompaniments. 


25 


III. 

The  Sentences. 


l. 

lOPIRIT  of  knowledge  grant  me  this, 
A simple  heart  and  subtle  wit, 

To  praise  the  thing  whose  praise  it  is 
That  all  which  can  be  praised  is  it. 


2. 

What  seems  to  us  for  us  is  true. 

The  planets  have  no  proper  light; 
And  yet,  to  subtlest  mortal  view, 

The  primal  stars  are  not  so  bright. 


26 


The  Accompaniments. 


3- 

If  one  slight  column  counterweighs 
The  ocean,  ’tis  the  Maker’s  law, 
Who  deems  obedience  better  praise 
Than  sacrifice  of  erring  awe. 


IDYL  I. 


BEULAH. 


i. 

TXT" HAT  fortune  did  my  heart  foretell ? 

What  shook  my  spirit,  as  I woke, 
Like  the  vibration  of  a bell 

Of  which  I had  not  heard  the  stroke? 
Was  it  some  happy  vision  shut 

From  memory  by  the  sun’s  fresh  ray? 
Was  it  that  linnet’s  song;  or  but 
A natural  gratitude  for  day? 

Or  the  mere  joy  the  senses  weave, 

A wayward  ecstasy  of  life? 


28 


Beulah. 


Then  I remember’d,  yester-eve 
I won  Honoria  for  my  wife. 


2. 

Forth  riding,  while  as  yet  the  day 
Was  dewy,  watching  Sarum  Spire, 

Still  beckoning  me  along  my  way, 

And  growing  every  minute  higher, 

I reach’d  the  Dean’s.  Her  blind  was  down, 
Though  nine  then  struck.  My  bride 
to  be  ! 

And  had  she  rested  ill,  my  own, 

With  thinking,  (oh  my  heart!)  of  me"? 

I paced  the  streets;  two  pistols  chose, 

To  guard  my  now  important  life 
When  riding  late  from  Sarum  Close ; 

At  noon  return’d.  . Good  Mrs.  Fife, 

To  my,  “The  Dean,  is  he  at  home?” 

Said,  “No,  Sir;  but  Miss  Honor  is;” 
And  straight,  not  asking  if  I’d  come, 


Beulah. 


29 


Announced  me,  “ Mr.  Felix,  Miss,” 

To  Mildred,  in  the  Study.  There 

We  talk’d,  she  working.  We  agreed 
The  day  was  fine ; the  Fancy-Fair 

Successful ; “ Did  I ever  read 
“De  Genlis?”  “No.”  “I  must.  She  had 
heard 

“ I was  engaged.”  “To  whom ? ” “ Miss 
Fry. 

“Was  it  the  fact?”  “No!”  “On  my 
word  ? ” 

“What  scandal  people  talk’d!”  “Would  I 
“Hold  out  this  skein  of  silk.”  So  pass’d 

I know  not  how  much  time  away. 

“ How  were  her  sisters?”  “Well.”  At 
last 

I summon’d  heart  enough  to  say, 

“ I hoped  to  have  seen  Miss  Churchill  too.” 

“ Miss — who  ? ” laugh’d  Mildred ; “ What 
is  this? 


3° 


Beulah. 


“ I said,  and  so  indeed  it’s  true 

“ Last  night  you  quarrell’d  ? Here  she 
is  ! ” 

3- 

She  enter’d,  like  a morning  rose 

Ruffled  with  rain,  and  made  me  blush: 
Her  crown  once  more  was  on  her  brows; 

And,  with  a faint,  indignant  flush, 

And  fainter  smile,  she  gave  her  hand, 

But  not  her  eyes,  then  sate  apart, 

As  if  she’d  have  me  understand 

The  honour  of  her  vanquish’d  heart: 

But  I drew  humbly  to  her  side ; 

And  she,  well  pleased,  perceiving  me 
Abash’d  again  before  the  pride 
Of  her  unconquer’d  majesty, 

Once  and  for  all  put  it  away : 

The  faint  flush  pass’d;  and,  thereupon. 
Her  loveliness,  which  rather  lay 

In  light  than  colour,  smiled  and  shone, 


Beulah. 


31 


Till  sick  was  all  my  soul  with  bliss : 

Or  was  it  with  remorse  and  ire 
That  grace  so  worshipful  as  this 

Should  not  have  set  its  heaven  higher? 


II. 

AUNT  MAUDE. 


3 


h 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 

The  Capture. 

TITATCH  how  a bird,  that  captived 
sings, 

The  cage  set  open,  first  looks  out, 

Yet  fears  the  freedom  of  his  wings, 

And  now  withdraws,  and  flits  about, 

And  now  looks  forth  again ; until, 

Grown  bold,  he  perches  here  and  there, 
And  now  attains  the  window-sill, 

And  now  confides  himself  to  air. 

The  maiden  so,  from  love’s  free  sky 
In  chaste  and  prudent  counsels  caged, 


36  The  Accompaniments. 

But  longing  to  be  loosen’d  by 

Her  suitor’s  faith  declared  and  gaged, 
When  blest  with  that  release  desired, 

First  doubts  if  truly  she  is  free, 

Then  pauses,  restlessly  retired, 

Alarm’d  at  too  much  liberty : 

But  soon,  remembering  all  her  debt 
To  plighted  passion,  gets  by  rote 
Her  duty ; says,  “ I love  him ! ” yet 

The  thought  half  chokes  her  in  her  throat 
And,  like  that  fatal  “ I am  thine,” 

Comes  with  alternate  gush  and  check 
And  joltings  of  the  heart,  as  wine 
Pour’d  from  a flask  of  narrow  neck. 

Is  he  indeed  her  choice?  She  fears 
Her  Yea  was  rashly  said,  and  shame, 
Remorse,  and  ineffectual  tears 
Revolt  from  his  conceded  claim. 

Oh,  treason!  So,  with  desperate  nerve, 

She  cries,  “ I am  in  love,  am  his ! ” 


The  Accompaniments.  37 

Lets  run  the  cables  of  reserve, 

And  floats  into  a sea  of  bliss, 

And  laughs  to  think  of  her  alarm, 

Avows  she  was  in  love  before, 

Though  his  avowal  was  the  charm 
Which  open’d  to  her  own  the  door. 

She  loves  him  for  his  mastering  air, 

Whence,  Parthian-like,  she  slaying  flies; 
His  flattering  look,  which  seems  to  wear 
Her  loveliness  in  manly  eyes; 

His  smile,  which,  by  reverse,  portends 
An  awful  wrath,  should  reason  stir, 
(How  fortunate  it  is  they’re  friends, 

And  he  will  ne’er  be  wroth  with  her!) 
His  power  to  do  or  guard  from  harm; 

(If  he  but  chose  to  use  it  half, 

And  catch  her  up  in  one  strong  arm, 

What  could  she  do  but  weep,  or  laugh!) 
His  talk,  which  still  instructs,  but  so 
That  this  applause  seems  still  implied. 


38  The  Accompaniments. 

“ How  wise  in  all  she  ought  to  know ! 

“ How  ignorant  of  all  beside ! ” 

His  skilful  suit,  which  leaves  her  free, 
Gives  nothing  for  the  world  to  name, 
And  keeps  her  conscience  safe,  while  he, 
With  half  the  bliss,  takes  all  the  blame; 
His  clear  repute  with  great  and  small; 

The  jealousy  his  choice  will  stir ; 

But,  ten  times  more  than  ten  times  all, 

She  loves  him  for  his  love  of  her. 

How  happy  ’tis  that  he  can  see 
In  her  that  total  loveliness 
Which  she,  for  his  sake,  longs  to  be ! 

At  times,  she  cannot  but  confess 
Her  other  friends  are  somewhat  blind: 

Her  parents’  years  excuse  neglect; 

But  all  the  rest  are  scarcely  kind; 

And  brothers  grossly  want  respect. 

And  oft  she  views  what  he  admires 
Within  her  glass;  and  sight  of  this 


The  Accompaniments.  39 

Makes  all  the  sum  of  her  desires 
To  be  devotion  unto  his. 

But  still,  at  first,  whatever’s  done, 

A touch,  her  arm  press’d  lightly,  she 

Stands  dizzied,  shock’d,  and  flush’d,  like  one 
Set  sudden  neck-deep  in  the  sea; 

And,  though  her  bond  for  endless  time 
To  his  good  pleasure  gives  her  o’er, 

The  slightest  favour  seems  a crime, 

Because  it  makes  her  love  him  more. 

But  that  she’ll  never  let  him  know; 

For  what  were  love  should  reverence 
cease  ? 

A thought  which  makes  her  reason  so 
Inscrutable,  it  seems  caprice. 

With  her,  as  with  a desperate  town, 

Too  weak  to  stand,  too  proud  to  treat, 

The  conqueror,  though  the  walls  are  down, 
Has  still  to  capture  street  by  street : 

But,  after  that,  habitual  faith, 


4°  The  Accompaniments. 

Divorced  from  self,  where  late  ’twas  due, 
Walks  nobly  in  its  novel  path, 

And  she’s  to  changed  allegiance  true ; 
And,  prizing  what  she  can’t  prevent, 

(Right  wisdom,  often  misdeem’d  whim,) 
Her  will’s  indomitably  bent 
On  mere  submission  unto  him; 

To  him  she’ll  cleave,  for  him  forsake 
Father  and  mother’s  fond  command: 

He  is  her  lord,  for  he  can  take 

Hold  of  her  faint  heart  with  his  hand. 


The  Accompaniments. 


4i 


II. 

The  Sentences. 


1. 

“ OU  speak,”  cries  Love,  “ where  veils 
are  due ! ” 

I answer,  “ Fear  no  harm  from  this : 
“Women  will  vow  I say  not  true, 

“And  men  believe  the  lips  they  kiss.” 


2. 

At  home  the  chaste  maid’s  fancy  lies ; 

And  thus  may  such  a maid  be  known, 
The  beauty  in  her  lover’s  eyes 
Is  admiration  of  her  own. 


42  The  Accompaniments. 

3- 

“ I’ll  hunt  for  dangers  North  and  South, 

“ To  prove  my  love,  which  sloth  maligns!” 
What  seems  to  say  her  rosy  mouth  ? 

“ I’m  not  convinced  by  proofs  but  signs ! ” 


IDYL  II. 


AUNT  MAUDE. 


1. 

/’"XH  beating  heart  of  sweet  alarm, 

Which  stays  the  Lover’s  step,  when 
near 

His  Mistress,  and  her  awful  charm 
Of  grace  and  innocence  sincere  ! 

I held  the  open  door,  and  heard 
The  voice  of  my  betrothed  Wife, 

Who  sang  my  verses,  every  word 
By  music  taught  its  latent  life ; 

With  interludes  of  well-touch’d  notes, 

That  flash’d,  surprising  and  serene, 


44 


Aunt  Maude. 


As  meteor  after  meteor  floats 

The  mid-November  stars  between. 
There  was  a passion  in  her  tone, 

A tremor  when  she  touch’d  the  keys, 
Which  told  me  she  was  there  alone, 
And  uttering  all  her  heart  at  ease. 

I enter’d ; for  I did  not  choose 

To  kiss  her  hand,  without  the  glove, 
By  chance  or  stealth : beyond  their  use, 
Her  large  eyes  flatter’d  me  with  love. 


2. 

“ I wish  you  had  not  come  to-day ! 

“Would,  Felix,  we  were  safely  wed! 

“ Aunt  Maude  is  here.  I cannot  say 
“ The  cruel  things  that  she  has  said ! ” 
“Aunt  Maude,  who  used  to  box  my  ears 
“My  old  foe?  she  shall  be  my  friend, 
“Dearest,  if  you  will  dry  your  tears, 

“ Before  this  very  evening’s  end.” 


Aunt  Maude. 


45 


With  true  love’s  treacherous  confidence, 
And  ire,  at  last  to  laughter  won, 

She  told  her  words,  and  mark’d  their  sense, 
By  action,  as  her  Aunt  had  done. 

3* 

“‘You,  with  your  looks  and  handsome  air, 
“‘To  think  of  Vaughan!  You  fool! 
You  know, 

“‘You  might,  with  ordinary  care, 

“ ‘ Ev’n  yet,  be  Lady  Harrico. 

“ ‘ You’re  sure  he’ll  do  great  things  some  day ! 

“ ‘Nonsense,  he  wont;  he’s  dress’d  too  well: 
“ 4 Dines  with  the  Sterling  Club,  they  say ; 

“‘Not  commonly  respectable! 

“ ‘ Half  Puritan,  half  Cavalier  ! 

“ ‘ His  curly  hair  I think’s  a wig ; 

“ ‘ And,  for  his  fortune,  why,  my  Dear, 

“ ‘ It’s  not  enough  to  keep  a gig. 

“‘Old  Roger  Vaughan  will  never  die; 


46 


Aunt  Maude. 


“ 4 And  what  you  bring  wont  do  for  dress ; 
“ ‘ And  so  you’ll  live  on  44  Bye-and-bye,” 

“ 4 And  oaten-cake  and  water-cress  ! ’ 

4- 

44 1 wonder’d  that  she  did  not  see 

44  How  much  she  help’d  you  by  dispraise, 
“ But  only  said  you  had  bought  for  me 
“ A carriage  and  a pair  of  bays : 

“ She  laugh’d : I cried,  and  left  the  room. 

44  Papa  thinks,  Felix,  we  might  sell 
“ Those  horses ; one  would  draw  the 
brougham, — 

“ But  here  she  comes : receive  her  well.” 

5- 

Her  Aunt  came  in;-  and,  with  a frown, 

“ Oh,  you’re  here,  Mr.  What’s-your- 
name.” 

44  Vaughan,  Madam;”  and  I took  her  down 


Aunt  Maude.  47 

To  dinner;  talk’d;  opined  the  same, 

Or  made  the  difference  smooth.  We 
thought 

The  Pritchard  quarrel  vilely  patch’d. 

She  knew  the  Government  was  bought; 

And  call’d  Thiers  a knave  unmatch’d. 

I loathed  the  “Revolution  Bill,” 

No  Pitts  or  Burkes  had  been  since 
then  ! 

Ah,  rising  now  was  work  up-hill; 

Our’s  were  hard  times  for  gentlemen! 

She  sainted  Philpotts;  scorn’d  the  Whigs; 

I almost  wish’d  the  Bourbons  back, 

And  spurn’d  young  Englanders  for  prigs: 

Then  she,  with  unexpected  tack, 

“ My  niece  has  told  you  every  word 
“ I said  of  you  ! What  may  I mean  ? 

“ Of  course  she  has : but  you’ve  not  heard 
“ How  I abused  you  to  the  Dean ; — 
“Yes,  Pll  take  wine; — he’s  mad,  like  her; 


48 


Aunt  Maude. 


“ And  she  will  have  you : there  it  ends ! 

> 

“And,  now  I’ve  done  my  duty,  Sir, 

“ And  you’ve  shown  common-sense,  we’re 
friends ! ” 

6.  . 

“ I love  you  best  when  you’re  yourself ; ” 
Said  Honor,  whom  the  Dean  bade  show 
The  place,  upon  an  upper  shelf, 

Where  Tasso  stood,  lent  long  ago. 

I’d  be  whatever  she  loved  best ! 

And  sought  forgiveness,  not  in  vain. 
“You’ve  spoilt  my  rose!”  and,  from  her 
breast, 

She  gave  my  present  back  again. 

“ Oh,  Sweet,  how  hard  it  is  to  part ! 

“ You’re  mine,  and  how  unjust  it  seems.” 
“ Ah,  yes,  these  ‘ Good-nights  ’ break  my 
heart ! 

“You  must  go  now,  Love!”  “Happy 


dreams ! ” 


Aunt  Maude. 


49 


“You’ll  come  to-morrow?”  “Yes,  Sweetest.” 
“ How 

“ Fragrant  the  air  is ! What  a sky  ! 
“Stop;  where’s  your  Tasso?  Leave  it  now! 
“ I’m  coming,  Aunt  ! — Good-bye  ! ” 
“ Good-bye ! ” 

4 


III. 


THE  COUNTY  BALL. 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 

Love  and  Honour. 

\^rHAT  man  with  baseness  so  content, 
Or  sick  with  wrong  conceit  of 
right, 

As  not  to  know  that  the  element 
And  inmost  warmth  of  love’s  delight 
Is  honour?  Who’d  not  rather  kiss 
A duchess  than  a milkmaid,  prank 
Them  like  in  beauty  both,  which  is 
Precedent  nature’s  obvious  rank  ? 

Hence,  when  I see  the  maid  that’s  fair 
With  heavenly  graces,  chaste  and  good, 


54  The  Accompaniments. 

No  lower  honours,  I declare, 

Promote  so  passionate  a mood. 
Those  lesser  vaunts  are  dimm’d  or  lost 
Which  plume  her  name  or  paint  her 
Extinct  in  the  far  brighter  boast 
Of  her  angelic  fellowship. 


The  Accompaniments. 


55 


II. 

Love  Ceremonious. 

Ty'EEP  your  undrest,  familiar  style 

For  strangers,  but  respect  your  friend, 
Her  most,  whose  matrimonial  smile 
Is  and  asks  honour  without  end. 

’Tis  found,  and  needs  it  must  so  be, 

That  life  from  love’s  allegiance  flags, 
When  love  forgets  his  majesty 
In  sloth’s  unceremonious  rags. 

Love  should  make  home  a stately  Court : 

There  let  the  world’s  rude,  hasty  ways 
Be  fashion’d  to  a loftier  port, 

And  learn  to  bow  and  stand  at  gaze ; 
And  let  the  sweet,  respective  sphere 
Of  personal  worship  there  obtain 


56  The  Accompaniments. 

Circumference  for  moving  clear, 

None  treading  on  another’s  train. 
This  makes  that  pleasures  do  not  cloy, 
And  dignifies  our  mortal  strife 
With  calmness  and  considerate  joy, 
Befitting  our  immortal  life. 


The  Accompaniments. 


III. 

The  Sentences. 


1. 

J WORSHIP’D  Kate  with  all  my  will. 

In  idle  moods  you  seem  to  see 
A lofty  spirit  in  a hill, 

A human  touch  about  a tree. 


2. 

Maid,  choosing  man,  remember  this : 

You  take  his  nature  with  his  name : 
Ask,  too,  what  his  religion  is; 

For  you  will  soon  be  of  the  same. 


58  The  Accompaniments. 

3- 

Who  pleasure  follows  pleasure  slays; 

God’s  wrath  upon  himself  he  wreaks: 
But  all  delights  rejoice  his  days 

Who  takes  with  thanks,  yet  never  seeks. 


IDYL  III. 


THE  COUNTY  BALL. 


1. 

T^TELL,  Heaven  be  thank’d  my  first- 
love  fail’d, 

As,  Heaven  be  thank’d,  all  first-loves  do ! 
Thought  I,  when  Fanny  past  me  sail’d, 
First-loved  for  what  I never  knew; 
Unless  for  colouring  in  her  talk, 

When  cheeks  and  merry  mouth  would 
show 

Three  roses  on  a single  stalk, 

The  middle  wanting  room  to  blow. 


6o 


The  County  Ball. 


2. 

But  there  danced  she,  who  from  the  leaven 
Of  ill  preserved  my  heart  and  wit 
All  unawares,  for  she  was  heaven, 

Others  at  best  but  fit  for  it. 

I mark’d  her  step,  with  peace  elate, 

Her  brow  more  beautiful  than  morn, 

Her  sometime  air  of  girlish  state 

Which  sweetly  waived  its  right  to  scorn ; 
The  giddy  crowd,  she  grave  the  while, 
Although,  as  ’twere  beyond  her  will, 

About  her  mouth  the  baby  smile 

That  she  was  born  with  linger’d  still. 
Her  ball-dress  seem’d  a breathing  mist, 
From  the  fair  form  exhaled  and  shed, 
Raised  in  the  dance  with  arm  and  wrist 
All  warmth  and  light,  unbraceleted. 

Her  motion,  feeling  ’twas  beloved. 

The  pensive  soul  of  tune  express’d, 

And,  oh,  what  perfume,  as  she  moved. 


The  County  Ball.  61 

Came  from  the  flowers  in  her  breast ! 
Ah,  none  but  I discern’d  her  looks, 

When  in  the  whirl  she  pass’d  me  by, 
For  love  is  like  a ghost,  and  brooks 
Only  the  chosen  seer’s  eye; 

And  who  but  she  could  once  divine 
The  halo  and  the  happy  trance, 

When  now  her  arm  reposed  on  mine, 

In  all  the  pauses  of  the  dance ! 

If  either  for  all  else  but  one 

Was  blinder  than  the  mole  that  delves, 
Dark-lanterns  for  all  else,  we  shone 
But  to  each  other  and  ourselves. 

3- 

Whilst  so  her  beauty  fed  my  sight. 

And  whilst  I lived  in  what  she  said, 
Accordant  airs,  like  all  delight 

Most  sweet  when  noted  least,  were  play’d ; 
And  was  it  like  the  Pharisee 


62 


The  County  Ball. 


If  I in  secret  bow’d  my  face 
With  joyful  thanks  that  I should  be, 

Not  as  were  many,  but  with  grace, 

And  fortune  of  well-nurtured  youth, 

And  days  on  sordid  cares  defile, 

And  thoughts  accustom’d  to  the  truth, 
Made  capable  of  her  fair  smile  ? 

4* 

About  her  neck,  with  heart  full  gay, 

I dropp’d  her  little  eider  cloak, 

And  bade  adieu,  and  rode  away, 

Charles  Huntly  following.  “ Would  I 
smoke  ? ” 

“Yes”  (to  stop  talk);  but  this  my  care, 
Was  vain : he  joked  about  the  Ball, 
And  laugh’d  at  all  the  people  there : 

The  Churchills  chiefly  stirr’d  his  gall: 

“ My  smart  things,  Vaughan  you  know, 


amuse 


The  County  Ball. 


63 


“The  girls;  but  they’re  not  like  the  rest; 
“ They  make  one  mind  one’s  p’s  and  q’s, 

“ And  smile  at  me,  and  not  my  jest. 
“Give  me  your  brisk  and  light-built  Blondes! 

“ That  tall  one’s  like  as  like  can  be 
“To  those  slow  Kriemhilds  and  Isondes 
“You  storm’d  about  at  Trinity. 

“You’ve  changed ! or  perhaps  you  met  too 
young : 

“ Mulier  for  mo  s a,  Vaughan  you  know: 
“And  when  one  knows  these  charmers  long 
“ By  Jove  we  find  the  fins  will  show ! ” — 
Did  he  not  waltz  with  Fanny  Fry? — 

“ Ah,  there’s  a trump,  now ; worth  a pack 
“Of  sulky  Kriemhilds.  I’d  give  cry, 

“ But  that  they  say  you  hunt  that  track.” 
“ They  err ! Good-night ! Here  lies  my 
course, 

“ Through  Wilton.” — Silence  blest  mine 


ears, 


64  - The  County  Ball. 

And,  weak  at  heart  with  vague  remorse, 

A passing  poignancy  of  tears 
Attack’d  mine  eyes.  By  pale  and  park, 

I rode,  and  ever  seem’d  to  see, 

In  the  transparent,  starry  dark, 

That  splendid  brow  of  chastity, 

That  soft  and  yet  subduing  light, 

At  which,  as  at  the  sudden  moon, 

I held  my  breath,  and  thought  “ how 
bright ! ” 

That  guileless  beauty  in  its  noon, 
Compelling  tribute  of  desires, 

Ardent  as  day  when  Sirius  reigns, 

Pure  as  the  permeating  fires, 

That  smoulder  in  the  opal’s  veins. 


IV. 

THE  QUEEN’S  ROOM. 


5 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 

Accepted. 

“A  | "\q  marry  her  and  take  her  home!” 

The  Poet,  who  his  vision  tells. 
Describing  greatness,  speaks  of  Rome, 
And  each  thing  shows  by  something  else 
But,  through  the  list  of  Poets,  look, 

And  who  so  happy  to  have  found, 

In  universal  nature’s  book, 

A likeness  for  a life  so  crown’d  ! 

Here  they  speak  best  who  best  express 
Their  inability  to  speak, 


68 


The  Accompaniments. 


And  none  are  strong,  but  who  confess 
With  happy  skill  that  they  are  weak; 
For,  in  divinity  and  love 

What’s  worth  the  saying  can’t  be  said, 
And  all  who  babble  here  approve 
The  wise,  who’re  dumb  on  either  head. 


The  Accompaniments. 


69 


II. 

Rejected. 

“PERHAPS  she’s  dancing  somewhere 
A now ! ” 

The  thoughts  of  light  and  music  wake 
Sharp  jealousies,  that  grow  and  grow 
Till  silence  and  the  darkness  ache. 

He  sees  her  step,  so  proud  and  gay, 
Which,  ere  he  spake,  foretold  despair; 
Thus  did  she  look,  on  such  a day, 

And  such  the  fashion  of  her  hair; 

And  thus  she  stood,  when,  stooping  low, 
He  took  the  bramble  from  her  dress, 
And  thus  she  laugh’d  and  talk’d,  whose 
“No  ” 

Was  sweeter  than  another’s  “Yes.” 


7° 


The  Accompaniments. 


He  feeds  on  thoughts  that  most  deject; 

He  impudently  feigns  her  charms, 

So  reverenced  in  his  own  respect, 

Clasp’d  dreadfully  by  other  arms  ; 

And  turns,  and  puts  his  brows,  that  ache, 
Against  the  pillow  where  ’tis  cold  : 

If  only  now  his  heart  would  break  ! 

But,  oh,  how  much  a heart  can  hold! 


The  Accompaniments. 


71 


III. 

The  Sentences. 

\. 

11 ^HAT  may  the  desperate  sinner  win, 
Whom  stripes  and  precepts  cannot 
move  ? 

Only  the  sadness  of  all  sin 

When  look’d  at  in  the  light  of  love. 

2. 

You  cannot  see  these  robes  of  white 
In  which  I sing  of  love  ? Alack, 

Your  darkness  shows  in  heavenly  light, 
Though  whiteness  in  the  dark  is  black ! 


72 


The  Accompaniments. 


3- 

Strong  passions  mean  weak  will ; and  he 
Who  truly  knows  the  strength  and  bliss 
Which  are  in  love,  will  own  with  me 
No  passion,  but  a virtue  ’tis. 


IDYL  IV. 


THE  QUEEN’S  ROOM. 


1. 

r | ^HERE’S  nothing  sweeter  than  the  days 
In  which  young  Love  makes  every 
thought 

Pure  as  a bride’s  blush,  when  she  says 
“ I will  ” unto  she  knows  not  what ; 

And  lovers,  on  the  love-lit  globe, 

For  love’s  sweet  sake,  walk  yet  aloof, 
And  hear  Time  weave  the  marriage-robe, 
Attraction  warp  and  reverence  woof! 


74 


The  Queen’s  Room. 


2. 

My  Housekeeper,  my  Nurse  of  yore, 

Cried,  as  the  latest  carriage  went, 

“Well,  Mr.  Felix,  Sir,  I’m  sure 
“ The  morning’s  gone  off  excellent ! 

“ I never  saw  the  show  to  pass 

“ The  ladies,  in  their  fine  fresh  gowns, 

“ So  sweetly  dancing  on  the  grass, 

“To  music  with  its  ups  and  downs. 
“We’d  such  work,  Sir,  to  clean  the  plate: 

“Twas  just  the  busy  times  of  old. 

“ The  Queen’s  Room,  Sir,  look’d  quite  like 
state. 

“ Miss  Smythe,  when  she  went  up,  made 
bold 

“To  peep  into  the  rose  boudoir, 

“ And  cried,  ‘ How  charming ! all  quite 
new;  ’ 

“ And  wonder’d  whom  it  could  be  for. 
“All  but  Miss  Honor  look’d  in  too. 


The  Queen’s  Room. 


75 


“ But  she’s  too  proud  to  peep  and  pry : 
“None’s  like  that  sweet  Miss  Honor,  Sir! 

“Excuse  my  humbleness,  but  I 

“ Pray  Heav’n  you’ll  get  a wife  like  her ! 

“All  poor  folks  love  Miss  Honor’s  ways 
“ Better  than  money.  Mrs.  Rouse, 

“Who  ought  to  know  a lady,  says 
“No  finer  goes  to  Wilton  House. 

“ Miss  Bagshaw  thought  that  dreary  room 
“ Had  kill’d  old  Mrs.  Vaughan  with 
fright: 

“ She  would  not  sleep  in  such  a tomb 
“ For  all  her  host  was  worth  a night ! 

“ Miss  Fry,  Sir,  laugh’d : they  talk’d  the  rest 
“In  French;  and  French  Sir’s  Greek 
to  me. 

“ But,  though  they  smiled,  and  seem’d  to  jest, 
“No  love  was  lost,  for  I could  see 

“ How  serious-like  Miss  Honor  was  ” — 
“Well,  Nurse,  this  is  not  my  affair. 


76 


The  Queen’s  Room. 


“The  ladies  talk’d  in  French  with  cause! 

“ Good-day ; and  thank  you  for  your 
prayer.” 

3- 

I loiter’d  through  the  vacant  house, 

Soon  to  be  hers;  in  one  room  stay’d, 

Of  old  my  mother’s:  there  my  vows 
Of  endless  thanks  were  oftenest  paid. 
This  room  its  first  condition  kept; 

For,  on  the  road  to  Sarum  Town, 

There  once  an  English  Queen  had  slept, 
Before  the  Hurst  was  half  pull’d  down. 
The  pictured  walls  the  place  became : 

Across  the  Brook  Anaurus,  here, 

Stout  Jason  bore  the  wrinkled  dame 
Whom  service  changed  to  Juno ; there, 
Ixion’s  false  desire,  instead 

Of  the  nuptial  goddess,  clasp’d  a cloud; 
And,  here,  translated  Psyche  fed 

Her  gaze  on  Love,  in  heaven  allow’d. 


The  Queen’s  Room. 


4* 

And  in  this  chamber  had  she  been  ! 

And  into  that  she  would  not  look ! 

My  joy,  my  vanity,  my  Queen, 

At  whose  dear  name  my  pulses  shook ! 
Ah,  reader,  might  thy  thoughts,  like  bees, 
O’erswarm  this  plot  of  honey’d  flowers, 
Which  I,  with  toil  more  sweet  than  ease, 
Transplanted  have  from  Nature’s  bowers, 
And  taste  its  various  pleasures,  all 
Distill’d  to  one  ecstatic  line, 

Thou  might’st,  if  thou  hast  loved,  recall 
What  peace  and  ardour  then  was  mine. 


V. 

THE  LOVE-LETTERS. 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 

The  Paradox. 

J TOW  strange  a thing  a Lover  seems 
To  animals  that  do  not  love! 

Look  where  he  walks  and  talks  in  dreams, 
And  flouts  us  with  his  Lady’s  glove : 
How  foreign  is  the  garb  he  wears; 

And  how  his  great  devotion  mocks 
Our  poor  propriety,  and  scares 
The  undevout  with  paradox! 

6 


82 


The  Accompaniments. 


His  soul,  through  scorn  of  worldly  care, 
And  great  extremes  of  sweet  and  gall, 
And  musing  much  on  all  that’s  fair, 
Grows  witty  and  fantastical: 

He  sobs  his  joy  and  sings  his  grief, 

And  evermore  finds  such  delight 
In  simply  picturing  his  relief, 

That  ’plaining  seems  to  cure  his  plight 
He  makes  his  sorrow,  when  there’s  none ; 

His  fancy  blows  both  cold  and  hot ; 
Next  to  the  wish  that  she’ll  be  won, 

His  first  hope  is  that  she  may  not; 

He  sues,  yet  deprecates  consent 

Would  she  be  captured  she  must  fly; 
She  looks  too  happy  and  content, 

For  whose  least  pleasure  he  would  die; 
Oh,  cruelty,  she  cannot  care 

For  one  to  whom  she’s  always  kind  ! 
He  says  he’s  naught,  but  oh,  despair, 

If  he’s  not  Jove  to  her  fond  mind! 


The  Accompaniments.  83 

He’s  jealous  if  she  pets  a dove, 

She  must  be  his  with  all  her  soul ; 

Yet  ’tis  a postulate  in  love 

That  part  is  greater  than  the  whole, 

And  all  his  apprehension’s  stress, 

When  he’s  with  her,  regards  her  hair, 
Her  hand,  a ribbon  of  her  dress, 

As  if  his  life  were  only  there : 

Because  she’s  constant,  he  will  change, 

And  kindest  glances  coldly  meet, 

And,  all  the  time  he  seems  so  strange, 

His  soul  is  fawning  at  her  feet: 

Of  smiles  and  simple  heaven  grown  tired. 
He  wickedly  provokes  her  tears, 

And  when  she  weeps,  as  he  desired, 

Falls  slain  with  ecstasies  of  fears  ; 

He  finds,  although  she  has  no  fault, 

Except  the  folly  to  be  his ; 

He  worships  her,  the  more  to  exalt 
The  profanation  of  a kiss ; 


84  The  Accompaniments. 

Health’s  his  disease;  he’s  never  well 
But  when  his  paleness  shames  her  rose 
His  faith’s  a rock-built  citadel, 

Its  sign  a flag  that  each  way  blows ; 
His  o’erfed  fancy  frets  and  fumes; 

And  Love,  in  him,  is  fierce  like  Hate, 
And  ruffles  his  ambrosial  plumes 
Against  the  bars  of  time  and  fate. 


The  Accompaniments. 


% 


II. 

The  Sentences. 


1. 

'jpO  many  riddles  here’s  the  clue: 

For  fellowship  and  self-respect, 
Love,  who  will  kiss  and  worship  too, 
Must  have  both  mystery  and  defect. 

2. 

The  grateful  love  the  Giver’s  law ; 

But  who  the  Giver  not  admire, 
From  sin  or  doubtful  sanction  draw 
The  biting  sauce  their  feasts  require. 


86 


The  Accompaniments. 


3* 

Samson  the  mighty,  Solomon 
The  wise,  and  holy  David,  all 
Must  doff  their  caps  to  Love,  for  none 
But  fell  as  Love  would  scorn  to  fall. 


IDYL  V. 


THE  LOVE-LETTERS. 

I. 

OU  ask,  Will  admiration  halt, 

Should  time  divulge  some  hidden 
mote  ? 

Oh,  how  I wish  I knew  that  fault, 

That  I,  who  do  but  love,  might  dote ! 
You  that  have  stoop’d  to  my  estate 
Will  I so  constantly  admire, 

Yourself  yourself  shall  emulate, 

And  be  yourself  your  own  desire. 

I’ll  nobly  mirror  you  too  fair, 

And,  when  you’re  false  to  me  your  glass. 


88 


The  Love-letters . 


What’s  wanting  you’ll  by  that  repair, 

So  bring  yourself  through  me  to  pass. 

O Dearest,  tell  me  how  to  prove 

Good-will  which  cannot  be  express’d  : 

The  beneficial  heart  of  love 
Is  labour  in  an  idle  breast. 

Name  in  the  world  your  chosen  part, 

And  here  I vow,  with  all  the  bent 

And  application  of  my  heart 

To  give  myself  to  your  content. 

Would  you  live  on,  home-worship’d,  thus, 
Not  proudly  high  nor  poorly  low  ? 

Indeed  the  lines  are  fall’n  to  us 
In  pleasant  places ! Be  it  so. 

But  would  you  others  heav’nward  move, 
By  sight  not  faith,  while  you  they  admire? 

I’ll  help  with  zeal,  as  I approve, 

That  just  and  merciful  desire. 

High  as  the  lonely  moon  to  view 
I’ll  lift  your  light:  do  you  decree 


The  Love-letters. 


89 


Your  place,  I’ll  win  it:  for  from  you 
Command  inspires  capacity. 

Or,  unseen,  would  you  sway  the  world 
More  surely  ? Then  in  loftiest  rhyme 
I’ll  raise  your  emblem,  fair  unfurl’d 
With  blessing  in  the  breeze  of  time. 
Faith  removes  mountains,  much  more  love : 

Let  your  contempt  abolish  me 
If  aught  of  your  devisal  prove 
Too  hard  or  high  to  do  or  be. 


9° 


The  Love-letters . 


II. 

I found  your  letter,  Love.  How  kind 
To  leave  it  there ! I cannot  tell 

How  happy  I am,  or  how  you  find 

Words  to  express  your  thoughts  so  well. 

The  Girls  to-night  attend  the  Ball 

At  Wilton.  If  you  can,  Dear,  come : 

Or  any  day  this  week  you  call 
You’ll  find  Papa  and  me  at  home. 

You  said  to  Mary  once — I hope 

You  meant  it — women  should  be  vain : 

On  Saturday  your  friend,  (her  Pope,) 

The  Bishop  dined  with  us  again. 

She  put  the  question,-  if  they  ought? 

He  turn’d  it  cleverly  away, 

(For  giddy  Mildred  cried,  she  thought 
We  must,)  with  “ What  we  must  we  may.” 


The  Love-letters.  91 

Dear  Papa  laugh’d,  and  said  ’twas  sad 
To  think  how  vain  his  girls  would  be, 
Above  all  Mary,  now  she  had 
Episcopal  authority. 

But  I was  very  dull,  dear  Friend, 

And  went  upstairs  at  last  and  cried. 

Be  sure  to  come  to-day,  or  send 
A rose-leaf  kiss’d  on  either  side. 

Adieu  ! I am  not  well.  Last  night 
I had  startling  dreams:  I often  woke, 
The  summer-lightning  was  so  bright; 

And  when  it  flash’d  I thought  you  spoke. 


92 


The  Love-letters. 


III. 

What  lifts  you  in  my  thoughts  so  far 
Beyond  all  else?  Let  Love  be  true! 

’Tis  that  which  all  right  women  are, 

But  which  I’ll  know  in  none  but  you. 

You  are  to  me  the  only  Ark 

Of  that  high  mystery  which  locks 

The  lips  of  joy,  or  speaks  in  dark 
Enigmas  and  in  paradox, 

That  potent  charm,  which  none  can  fly, 
Nor  would,  which  makes  me  bond  and 
free, 

Nor  can  I tell  if  first  ’twas  I 
Chose  it,  or  it  elected  me; 

Which,  when  I look  intentest,  lo, 

Cheats  most  mine  eyes,  albeit  my  heart. 


The  Love-letters. 


93 


Content  to  feel  and  not  to  know. 

Perceives  it  all  in  every  part ; 

I kiss  its  cheek,  its  life  divine 

Exhales  from  its  resplendent  shroud; 
Ixion’s  fate  reversed  is  mine. 

Authentic  Juno  seems  a cloud; 

I feel  a happy  warmth,  I see 
A bright  circumference  of  rays, 

But  darkness  where  the  sun  should  be 
Fills  adoration  with  amaze; 

And  when,  for  joy’s  relief,  I think 
To  fathom  with  the  line  of  thought 
The  well  from  which  I,  blissful,  drink, 
The  spring’s  so  deep,  I come  to  nought. 


VI. 


THE  REVULSION. 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 

I. 

T ’he  Pearl. 

0 AY,  Muse,  who  warblest  at  mine  ear 

That  Prothalamium  jubilant 
Which  I,  in  weakness  and  in  fear, 

Repeat,  and  of  its  glory  scant, 

Say,  what  of  those  who  are  not  wives, 

Nor  have  them;  tell  what  fate  they  prove 
Who  keep  the  pearl  which  happier  lives 
Cast  in  the  costly  cup  of  Love? 

1 answer,  (for  the  sacred  Muse 

Is  dumb,)  “ 111  chance  is  not  for  aye ; 

7 


98  The  Accompaniments. 

“ But  who  with  erring  preference  choose 
“ The  sad  and  solitary  way, 

“ And  think  peculiar  praise  to  get 

“ In  heaven,  where  error  is  not  known, 

“ They  have  the  separate  coronet 

“ They  sought,  but  miss  a worthier  crown. 
“Virgins  are  they,  before  the  Lord, 

“ Whose  hearts  are  pure : the  vestal  fire 
“ Is  not,  as  some  misread  the  Word, 

“ By  marriage  quench’d,  but  burns  the 
higher.” 


The  Accompaniments. 


99 


II. 

Rachel. 

'Y’  OU  loved  her,  and  would  lie  all  night 
Thinking  how  beautiful  she  was, 
And  what  to  do  for  her  delight. 

Now  both  are  bound  with  alien  laws ! 

Be  patient ; put  your  heart  to  school ; 

Weep  if  you  will,  but  not  despair: 

The  trust  that  nought  goes  wrong  by  rule 
Makes  light  a load  the  many  bear. 

Love,  if  heav’n’s  heav’n,  shall  meet  his 
dues, 

Though  here  unmatch’d,  or  match’d 
amiss ; 

Meanwhile,  the  gentle  cannot  choose 
But  learn  to  love  the  lips  they  kiss. 


lOO 


The  Accompaniments. 


Ne’er  hurt  the  homely  sister’s  ears 
With  Rachel’s  beauties:  secret  be 
The  lofty  mind  whose  lonely  tears 
Protest  against  mortality. 


The  Accompaniments. 


101 


III. 

The  Sentences. 


1. 

O AY  Grace : it  is  not  time  mispent : 

Worst  food  this  betters,  and  the  best, 
Wanting  this  natural  condiment, 

Breeds  crudeness,  and  will  not  digest. 

2. 

God  loves  no  heart  to  others  iced, 

Nor  erring  flatteries,  which  bedim 
Our  glorious  membership  of  Christ, 
Wherein  all  loving  His  love  Him. 


102 


The  Accompaniments. 


3- 

All  blessings  ask  a blessed  mood : 

The  sauce  is  here  much  more  than  meat 
Happy  who  chooses  gratitude ! 

That  wanting,  God  will  try  regret. 


IDYL  VI. 

THE  REVULSION. 


l. 

^JWVAS  when  the  spousal  time  of  May 
Hangs  all  the  hedge  with  bridal 
wreaths. 

And  air’s  so  sweet  the  bosom  gay 

Gives  thanks  for  every  breath  it  breathes, 
When  like  to  like  is  gladly  moved, 

And  each  thing  joins  in  Spring’s  refrain, 
“ Let  those  love  now,  who  never  loved ; 

“ Let  those  who  have  loved  love  again ; ” 


104  The  Revulsion . 

That  I,  in  whom  the  sweet  time  wrought, 
Lay  stretch’d  within  a lonely  glade, 
Abandon’d  to  delicious  thought 

Beneath  the  softly  twinkling  shade. 

The  leaves,  all  stirring,  mimick’d  well 
A neighbouring  rush  of  rivers  cold, 

And,  as  the  sun  or  shadow  fell, 

So  these  were  green  and  those  were 
gold; 

In  masses  dim,  blue  hyacinths  droop’d, 

And  breadths  of  primrose  cool’d  the  air, 
Which,  wandering  through  the  woodland, 
stoop’d 

And  gather’d  perfumes  here  and  there ; 
Upon  the  spray  the  squirrel  swung, 

And  careless  songsters,  six  or  seven, 

Sang  lofty  songs  the  leaves  among, 

Fit  for  their  only  listener,  Heaven. 

I sigh’d,  “ Immeasurable  bliss 

“ Gains  nothing  by  becoming  more ! 


The  Revulsion. 


10  5 


“Millions  have  meaning;  after  this 
“Cyphers  forget  the  integer.” 


2. 

And  so  I mused,  till  musing  brought 
A dream  that  shook  my  house  of  clay, 
And,  in  my  humbled  heart,  I thought: 

To  me  there  yet  may  come  a day 
When  o’er  my  head  great  waters  roll, 
And  this  poor  hope  is  all  I have 
That  faith,  though  helpless  to  console, 
May  still  be  strong  enough  to  save; 
And  this  the  single  vestige  seen 
Of  comfort,  earthly  or  divine, 

The  thing  I suffer  must  have  been 
Her  portion,  had  it  not  been  mine. 
Then  I,  who  knew,  from  watching  life, 
That  blows  prepared  for  seldom  fall, 
Rehearsed  the  losing  of  a wife, 

And  faced  its  terrors  each  and  all. 


io6 


The  Revulsion. 


The  self-chastising  fancy  show’d 
The  coffin  with  its  ghastly  breath ; 

The  innocent  sweet  face  that  owed 
None  of  its  innocence  to  death; 

The  lips  that  used  to  talk;  the  knell 
That  bade  the  world  beware  of  mirth ; 

The  heartless  and  intolerable 
Indignity  of  “ earth  to  earth ; ” 

Love’s  still  recurrent  jubilees, 

Each  dropping  on  my  life  like  lead; 

At  morn  remembering  by  degrees 
That  she  I dream’d  about  was  dead ; 

The  duties  of  my  life  the  same, 

Their  meaning  for  the  feelings  gone; 

Friendship  impertinent,  and  fame 

Disgusting;  and,  more  harrowing  none, 

Small  household  troubles  fall’n  to  me, 

As,  “ What  time  would  I dine  to  day  ? 

And,  oh,  how  could  I bear  to  see 
Her  noisy  children  at  their  play. 


The  Revulsion.  107 

Besides,  where  all  things  limp  and  halt, 

It  could  not  chance  that  I alone 
Should  keep  my  love  without  default 
Pitch’d  at  the  true  and  heavenly  tone: 
Some  festal-day  might  come  to  mind 

That  miss’d  the  gift  which  more  endears ; 
Some  hour  which  might  have  been  more  kind, 
And  now  less  fertile  in  vain  tears; 

Some  little  wrong,  now  greatly  rued; 

Remorse  of  misesteem’d  delight, 

And  love,  in  disbelieving  mood, 

Deserting  his  celestial  height; 

The  thought  that  God  in  grace  sent  grief 
To  make  me  less  the  world’s,  and  more 
Meek-hearted : ah,  what  sick  relief ! 

Why  bow’d  I not  my  heart  before? 

3- 

“O,  Heav’n,”  I cried,  with  chill  alarm. 


“If  this  fantastic  horror  shows 


The  Revulsion. 


108 

“ The  feature  of  an  actual  harm ! ” 

And,  coming  straight  to  Sarum  Close, 
As  one  that  dreams  his  wife  is  dead, 
And  cannot  in  his  slumber  weep, 

And  moans  upon  his  wretched  bed, 

And  wakes,  and  finds  her  there  asleep. 
And  laughs  and  sighs,  so  I,  not  less 
Relieved,  beheld,  with  blissful  start, 
The  light  and  happy  loveliness 
Which  lay  so  heavy  on  my  heart. 


VII. 


TETE-A-TETE. 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 

The  Mistress. 

JF  he’s  capricious  she’ll  be  so, 

But,  if  his  duties  constant  are, 

She  lets  her  loving  favour  glow 
As  steady  as  a tropic  star. 

Appears  there  nought  for  which  to  weep. 
She’ll  weep  for  nought,  for  his  dear 
sake ; 

She  clasps  her  sister  in  her  sleep; 

Her  love  in  dreams  is  most  awake. 


112 


The  Accompaniments. 


Her  soul,  that  once  with  pleasure  shook. 
Did  any  eyes  her  beauty  own, 

Now  wonders  how  they  dare  to  look 
On  what  belongs  to  him  alone; 

The  indignity  of  taking  gifts 
Exhilarates  her  loving  breast; 

A rapture  of  submission  lifts 
Her  life  into  celestial  rest; 

There’s  nothing  left  of  what  she  was ; 

Back  to  the  babe  the  woman  dies; 
And  all  the  wisdom  that  she  has 
Is  to  love  him  for  being  wise. 

She’s  confident  because  she  fears; 

And,  though  discreet  when  he’s  away, 
If  none  but  her  dear  despot  hears, 

She’ll  prattle  like  a child  at  play. 
Perchance,  when  all  her  praise  is  said, 
He  tells  the  news,  a battle  won, 

On  either  side  ten  thousand  dead, 

Describing  how  the  whole  was  done : 


The  Accompaniments.  113 

She  thinks,  “He’s  looking  on  my  face! 

“I  am  his  joy;  whate’er  I do, 

“He  sees  such  time-contenting  grace 
“ In  that,  he’d  have  me  always  so ! ” 
And,  evermore,  for  either’s  sake, 

To  the  sweet  folly  of  the  dove, 

She  joins  the  cunning  of  the  snake, 

T o rivet  and  exalt  his  love ; 

Her  mode  of  candour  is  deceit; 

And  what  she  thinks  from  what  she’ll  say, 
Although  I’ll  never  call  her  cheat, 

Lies  far  as  Scotland  from  Cathay. 
Without  his  knowledge  he  was  won ; 

Against  his  nature  kept  devout; 

She’ll  never  tell  him  how  ’twas  done, 

And  he  will  never  find  it  out. 

If,  sudden,  he  suspects  her  wiles, 

And  hears  her  forging  chain  and  trap. 
And  looks,  she  sits  in  simple  smiles, 

Her  two  hands  lying  in  her  lap. 

8 


1 14  The  Accompaniments. 

Her  secret,  (privilege  of  the  Bard, 

Whose  fancy  is  of  either  sex,) 

Is  mine;  but  let  the  darkness  guard 

Mysteries  that  light  would  more  perplex. 


The  Accompaniments. 


u5 


If. 

T 'he  Sentences. 


1. 

“T  SAW  him  kiss  your  cheek!”  “’Tis 
^ true.” 

“O,  modesty!”  “’Twas  strictly  kept: 

“ He  thought  me  asleep ; at  least,  I knew  , 
“ He  thought  I thought  he  thought  I 
slept.” 

2. 

Oh,  where  shall  art,  man’s  nature,  halt; 

And  who  shall  say  how  far  above 
Its  present  bliss  may  Time  exalt 
Civility’s  sweet  nursling,  Love  ! 


n6  The  Accompaniments. 

3- 

That  nothing  here  may  want  its  praise, 
Know,  she  who  by  her  dress  reveals 
A fine  and  modest  taste,  displays 
More  loveliness  than  she  conceals. 


IDYL  VII. 


TETE-A-TETE. 


l. 

T)RAY,  dear  Papa,  let  me  go  too, 

“ If  Honor  and  Felix  do  not  mind  ! ” 
“ What,  does  not  Felix  talk  to  you  ? ” 

“ Oh,  yes,  Papa ; he’s  very  kind ; 

“ He  knows  not  which  he  should  prefer ; 

“He  sits  by  Honor,  and  talks  to  me, 
“And  vexes  so  both  me  and  her 
“With  this  impartiality: 


1 18 


Tete-a-Tete. 


“ Poor  Honor  says — ” “ O,  Mildred,  what  ? ” 
“Well,  come  with  me,”  replied  the  Dean. 
Honoria  fetch’d  his  stick  and  hat, 

And  went  again  to  work  her  screen. 

2. 

% 

“ What’s  this  ? ” “ Miss  Gussett’s  Fashion- 

Book. 

“ Do  you  like  flounc’d  or  plain  skirts 
best  ? ” 

“ O,  flounc’d,  like  your’s.  These — ” “ gath- 
ers ” “ look 

“ Too  straight:  I like  them  thus,  recess’d.” 
“That  fashion’s  old.”  “You’ve  charming 
taste 

“In  colours : dim  grey  with  a dash 
“Of  gayest  azure  at  the  waist! 

“ How  I should  like  to  have  that  sash ! 

“ Oh,  thanks ! What  narrow  boundaries  hold 
“ My  world!  You  are  so  fair — but,  Dear, 


Tete-a-Tete. 


119 


“You  must  be  tired  of  being  told?” 

“ Oh,  no,  Love ! ” “ Are  you  pleased  to 

hear  ? ” 

“ I would,  of  course,  seem  fair  to  you.” 

“ But,  Sweetest,  you  must  promise  me 
“To  think  my  praises  simply  true! 

“Come  to  the  mirror.  Why  not?  See, 
“ Are  you  not  beautiful  ? Confess ! 

“Nay,  till  you  do,  you  must  not  go! 

“ There,  while  you’re  blushing,  tell  me  ! ” 
“ Yes.” 

“ You  can’t  see  with  your  head  turn’d  so.” 

3- 

I praised  her,  but  no  praise  could  fill 
The  depths  of  her  desire  to  please, 
Though  dull  to  others  as  a Will 
To  them  that  have  no  legacies. 

The  more  I praised  the  more  she  shone ; 
Her  eyes  incredulously  bright, 


120 


Tete-a-Tete. 


And  all  her  beauty  fully  blown 
Beneath  the  beams  of  my  delight. 

Sweet  rivalry  was  thus  begot : 

By  turns,  my  speech,  in  passion’s  style, 
With  flatteries  the  truth  o’ershot, 

And  she  surpass’d  them  with  her  smile. 

4* 

“You  have  my  heart  so  sweetly  seized, 
“And  I confess,  nay,  ’tis  my  pride 
“ That  I’m  with  you  so  solely  pleased, 

“ That,  if  I’m  pleased  with  aught  beside, 
“As  music,  or  the  month  of  June, 

“ My  friend’s  devotion,  or  his  wit, 

“A  rose,  a rainbow,  or  the  moon, 

“ It  is  that  you  illustrate  it. 

“ All  these  are  parts  where  you’re  the  whole  ! 

“You  fit  the  taste  for  Paradise, 

“To  which  your  charms  draw  up  the  soul 
“As  turning  spirals  draw  the  eyes. 


Tete-a-Tete. 


121 


“ Nature  to  you  was  more  than  kind ! 

“ Twas  fond  perversity  to  dress 
“So  simple  and  so  meek  a mind 
“ In  such  a pomp  of  loveliness 
“ But,  praising  you,  the  fancy  deft 
“Flies  wide  and  lets  the  quarry  stray, 
“And  when  all’s  said,  there’s  something 
left, 

“And  that’s  the  thing  I meant  to  say.” 

5- 

“Dear  Felix!”  “Dearest  Honor!” — There 
Was  Aunt  Maude’s  noisy  knock  and 
ring.— 

“ Stop,  Felix ; you  have  caught  my  hair. 
“Thanks.  Is  it  smooth?  Now  will  you 
bring 

“ My  screen  ? Good-morning,  Aunt  ! ” 
“ Why,  Puss, 

“You  look  magnificent  to-day.” 


122 


Tete-a-Tete. 


“ Here’s  Felix,  Aunt.”  “ Fox  and  green 
goose  ! 

“ Who  handsome  gets  should  handsome 
pay.” 

“You’re  friends,  dear  Aunt!”  “ O,  to  be 
sure ! 

“ Good  morning ! Go  on  flattering,  Sir ; 

“A  woman’s  like  the  Koh-i-noor, 

“Worth  just  the  price  that’s  put  on  her.” 


VIII. 


THE  FRIENDS. 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 

Beauty. 

jQY  Heaven’s  law,  the  Jew  might  take 
A slave  to  wife,  if  she  was  fair; 

So  strong  a plea  does  beauty  make 
That,  where  ’tis  seen,  discretion  there 
Inhabits  also.  If  we  learn 

That  this  illustrious  vaunt’s  a lie, 

The  soul  which  can  indeed  discern 
Sees  ugly  contrariety, 

And  laughs  at  Nature’s  wanton  mood, 
Which,  thus  the  swinish  thing  to  flout, 
Though  haply  in  its  gross  way  good, 
Hangs  such  a jewel  in  its  snout. 


126 


The  Accompaniments. 


II. 

Wisdom. 

OLTLD  Wisdom  for  herself  be  woo’d, 
And  wake  the  foolish  from  his 
dream, 

She  must  be  glad  as  well  as  good. 

And  must  not  only  be  but  seem : 

Beauty  and  joy  are  hers  by  right; 

And,  knowing  this,  I wonder  less 
That  she’s  so  scorn’d,  when  falsely  dight 
In  misery  and  ugliness. 

What’s  that  which  Heav’n  to  man  endears, 
And  that  which  eyes  no  sooner  see 
Than  the  heart  says,  with  floods  of  tears, 

“ Ah,  that’s  the  thing  which  I would  be ! ” 


The  Accompaniments.  127 

Not  childhood,  full  of  frown  and  fret; 

Not  youth,  impatient  to  disown 
Those  visions  high,  which  to  forget 

Were  worse  than  never  to  have  known; 
Not  worldlings,  in  whose  fair  outside 
Nor  courtesy  nor  justice  fails, 

Whose  virtues  are  but  vices  tied, 

Like  Samson’s  foxes,  by  the  tails ; 

Not  poets:  real  things  are  dreams. 

When  dreams  are  as  realities, 

And  boasters  of  celestial  gleams 

Go  stumbling  aye  for  want  of  eyes ; 

Not  patriots  or  people’s  men, 

In  whom  two  worse-match’d  evils  meet 
Than  ever  sought  Adullam’s  den, 

Base  conscience  and  a high  conceit; 

Not  new-made  saints,  their  feelings  iced, 
Their  joy  in  man  and  nature  gone, 

Who  sing,  “ O,  easy  yoke  of  Christ ! ” 

But  find  ’tis  hard  to  get  it  on ; 


128  • The  Accompaniments. 

Not  great  men,  even  when  they’re  good : 
The  good  man  whom  the  Lord  makes 
great, 

By  some  disgrace  of  chance  or  blood 
He  fails  not  to  humiliate : 

Not  these:  but  souls,  found  here  and  there, 
Oases  in  our  waste  of  sin, 

Where  every  thing  is  well  and  fair, 

And  God  remits  his  discipline; 

Whose  sweet  subdual  of  the  world 
The  worldling  scarce  can  recognize, 

And  ridicule,  against  it  hurl’d, 

Drops  with  a broken  sting  and  dies; 
Who  nobly,  if  they  cannot  know 
Whether  a ’scutcheon’s  dubious  field 
Carries  a falcon  or  a crow, 

Fancy  a falcon  on  the  shield ; 

Yet  ever  careful  not  to  hurt 

God’s  honour,  who  creates  success, 

Their  praise  of  even  the  best  desert 


The  Accompaniments.  129 

Is  but  to  have  presumed  no  less ; 

And,  should  their  own  life  plaudits  bring, 
They’re  simply  vex’d  at  heart  that  such 
An  easy,  yea,  delightful  thing 

Should  move  the  minds  of  men  so  much. 
They  live  by  law,  not  like  the  fool, 

But  like  the  Bard,  who  freely  sings 
In  strictest  bonds  of  rhyme  and  rule, 

And  finds  in  them  not  bonds  but  wings. 
They  shine  like  Moses  in  the  face, 

And  teach  our  hearts,  without  the  rod, 
That  God’s  grace  is  the  only  grace. 

And  all  grace  is  the  grace  of  God. 

Their  home  is  home;  their  chosen  lot 
A private  place  and  private  name, 

But,  if  the  world’s  want  calls,  they’ll  not 
Refuse  the  indignities  of  fame. 


9 


130 


The  Accompaniments. 


III. 

Joy. 

QWEET  Order  hath  its  draught  of  bliss 
Graced  with  the  pearl  of  God’s  consent, 
Ten  times  ecstatic  in  that  ’tis 
Considerate  and  innocent. 

In  vain  Disorder  grasps  the  cup : 

The  pleasure’s  not  enjoy’d,  but  spilt, 

And,  if  he  stoops  to  lick  it  up, 

It  only  tastes  of  earth  and  guilt  : 

His  sorry  raptures  rest  ■ destroys  ; 

To  live,  like  comets,  they  must  roam: 
On  settled  poles  turn  solid  joys, 

And  sunlike  pleasures  shine  at  home. 


The  Accompaniments. 


131 


IV. 

The  Sentences. 


1. 

IVE  thanks  for  nought,  if  you’ve  no 
more : 

And,  having  all  things,  do  not  doubt 
That  nought,  with  thanks,  is  blest  before 
Whate’er  the  world  can  give,  without. 


2. 

Wouldst  me  with  benefactions  move, 
Unmoved  thyself?  Friend,  let  me  lack ! 
I’ll  pauper  it  for  nought  but  love, 

And  even  that  I’ll  pay  thee  back. 


*32 


The  Accompaniments. 


3- 

You  love?  That’s  high  as  you  shall 
For  ’tis  as  true  as  Gospel  text 
Not  noble  then  is  never  so, 

Either  in  this  world  or  the  next. 


IDYL  VIII. 


THE  FRIENDS. 


l. 

J^RANK’S  long,  dull  letter,  lying  by 

The  gay  blue  sash  from  Honor's  waist, 
Reproach’d  me;  passion  spared  a sigh 
For  friendship  without  cause  disgraced. 
How  should  I greet  him?  how  pretend 
The  warmth  that  once  his  worth  inspired  ? 
Time  was  when  either,  in  his  friend. 

His  own  deserts  with  joy  admired ; 

We  took  one  side  in  school-debate, 

Like  hopes  pursued  with  equal  thirst, 


134 


The  Friends. 


Were  even-bracketed  by  Fate, 

Twin- Wranglers,  seventh  from  the  First; 
And  either  loved  a lady’s  laugh 
More  than  all  music : he  and  I 
Were  perfect  in  the  pleasant  half 
Of  universal  charity. 


2. 

From  pride  of  likeness  thus  I loved 
Him  and  he  me,  till  love  begot 
The  lowliness  which  now  approved 
Nothing  but  that  which  I was  not. 
Blest  was  the  pride  of  feeling  so 
Subjected  to  a girl’s  soft  reign ! 

She  was  my  vanity,  and,  oh, 

All  other  vanities  how  vain! 

3- 

Frank  follow’d  in  his  letter’s  track, 
And  set  my  guilty  heart  at  ease 


The  Friends. 


>35 


By  paying  my  excuses  back 
With  just  the  same  apologies. 

So  he’d  neglected  me  as  well  ! 

Good  fortune  also  paved  the  way 
For  what  I sought  excuse  to  tell. 

He  dined  at  Wilton  yesterday, 

And  met  Honoria  Churchill  there: 

A lovelier  girl  he’d  seldom  seen ! 

“ You  said  the  Wiltshire  girls  were  fair, 

“ But  never  mention’d  her,  the  queen.” 
How  sweet  to  hear  him  praise  her  charms ! 

For  love,  like  faith,  though  ne’er  so  sure, 
With  slightest  confirmation  warms, 

And  feels  its  great  assurance  more. 

“ Have  you  not  heard  then  ? She  and  I, 

“ Grant  Heav’n  we  both  may  live  so  long, 
“Are  to  be  married  next  July. 

“ Is  she  not  lovely ! I did  wrong 
“Not  to  inform  you,  but — ” Then  he 
Show’d  me  a portrait,  and  turn’d  red. 


*36 


The  Friends. 


“ Charming ! ” I cried.  “ Of  course  you’ll  be 
“My  Groom’s-man,  Vaughan?  In  June 
we  wed.” 

4- 

Each,  rapturous,  praised  his  lady’s  worth, 
Frank  eloquently  thus : “ Her  face 
“Is  the  summ’d  sweetness  of  the  earth, 
“Her  soul  the  glass  of  heaven’s  grace, 
“To  which  she  leads  me  by  the  hand; 

“ Or,  briefly  all  the  truth  to  say 
“ To  you,  who  briefly  understand, 

“ She  is  both  heaven  and  the  way. 

“ She  charms  with  manners  pure  and  high, 
“ The  fruit  of  an  ancestral  tree, 

“And  a devout  life,  order’d  by 
“ The  rubric  of  civility ; 

“ Displeasures  and  resentments  pass 
“Athwart  her  charitable  eyes 
“ More  fleetingly  than  breath  from  glass, 

“ Or  truth  from  bad  men’s  memories ; 


The  Friends. 


137 


“ Her  heart’s  so  touch’d  with  other’s  woes 
“She  has  no  need  of  chastisement; 

“ Her  lovely  life’s  conditions  close, 

“Like  God’s  commandments,  with  con- 
tent, 

“And  make  an  aspect  calm  and  gay, 
“Where  sweet  affections  come  and  go, 

“ Till  all  who  see  her,  smile,  and  say, 

“ How  fair  and  happy  that  she’s  so ! ” — 
“You  paint  Miss  Churchill!  Pray  go 
on 

“ She’s  perfect,  and  if  joy  was  much 
“To  think  her  Nature’s  paragon, 

“’Tis  more  that  there’s  another  such!” 

s- 

Praising  and  paying  back  the  praise 
Of  our  sweet  girls,  t’ward  Sarum  Spire 
We  walk’d  in  evening’s  golden  haze, 
Friendship  from  passion  stealing  fire. 


i38 


The  Friends. 


In  joy’s  crown  danced  the  feather  jest, 

And,  parting  by  the  Deanery  door, 
Clasp’d  hands,  less  shy  than  words,  confess’d 
We  had  not  been  true  friends  before. 


IX. 


THE  REGATTA. 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 

'‘'■'Platonic  Love” 

Right  art  thou  who  wouldst  rather  be 
A doorkeeper  in  Love’s  fair  house, 
Than  lead  the  wretched  revelry 

Where  fools  at  swinish  troughs  .carouse. 
But  do  not  boast  of  being  least; 

And  if  to  kiss  thy  Mistress’  skirt 
Amaze  thy  brain,  scorn  not  the  Priest 
Whom  greater  honours  do  not  hurt. 
Stand  off  and  gaze,  if  more  than  this 
Be  more  than  thou  canst  understand, 


142  The  Accompaniments. 

Revering  him  whose  power  of  bliss, 
Angelic,  dares  to  seize  her  hand, 

Or  whose  seraphic  love  makes  flight 
To  the  apprehension  of  her  lips; 
And  think,  the  sun  of  such  delight 
From  thine  own  shadow  takes  eclips 
And,  wouldst  thou  to  the  same  aspire, 
This  is  the  art  thou  must  employ, 
Live  purely;  so  shalt  thou  acquire 
Unknown  capacities  of  joy. 


The  Accompaniments. 


143 


II. 

Night  Thoughts. 

’'"pis  sweeter  than  all  else  below, 

The  daylight  and  its  duties  done, 
To  fold  the  arms  for  rest,  and  so 
Relinquish  all  regards  but  one; 

To  see  her  features  in  the  dark; 

To  lie  and  meditate,  once  more, 

Some  grace  he  did  not  fully  mark, 

Some  tone  he  had  not  heard  before ; 
Then  from  beneath  his  head  to  take 
Her  notes,  her  picture,  and  her  glove. 
Put  there  for  joy  when  he  shall  wake, 
And  press  them  to  the  heart  of  love ; 
And  then  to  whisper  “ Wife,”  and  pray 
To  live  so  long  as  not  to  miss 


144  The  Accompaniments. 

That  unimaginable  day 

Which  farther  seems  the  nearer  ’tis; 
And  still  from  joy’s  unfathom’d  well 
To  drink,  in  sleep,  while,  on  her  brow 
Of  innocence  ineffable, 

The  laughing  bridal  roses  blow. 


The  Accompaniments. 


l45 


III. 

The  Sentences. 


l. 

T?ULL  oft  the  Bard  must  curb  his  wit 
With,  “ That’s  a note  beyond  my 
voice ; 

“And,  if  I strove  to  utter  it, 

“’T would  not  be  melody  but  noise!” 


2. 

Ice-cold  strikes  heaven’s  noble  glow 
T o spirits  whose  vital  heat  is  hell ; 
And  to  corrupt  hearts  even  so 
The  songs  I sing,  the  tale  I tell. 

10 


146 


The  Accompaniments. 


3* 

Well-order’d  and  right-judging  minds 
If  love  is  virtue’s  only  mood, 

And  love’s  delightful,  logic  finds 
What’s  not  delightful  is  not  good. 


IDYL  IX. 


THE  REGATTA. 


l. 

TXT  HAT  should  I do  ? In  such  a wife 
Fortune  had  lavish’d  all  her  store, 
And  nothing  now  seem’d  left  for  life 
But  to  deserve  her  more  and  more. 

To  this  I vow’d  my  life’s  whole  scope; 

And  Love  said,  “ I forewarn  you  now, 

“ The  maiden  will  fulfil  your  hope 
“Only  as  you  fulfil  your  vow.” 


148 


The  Regatta. 


2. 

The  boon  she  had  ask’d,  (a  task  for  days,) 
Was  done  this  morning  while  she  slept. 
With  that  full  heart  which  thinks  no 
praise 

Of  vows  which  are  not  more  than  kept: 
But  loftier  work  did  love  impose, 

And  studious  hours.  Alas,  for  these, 
While  she  from  all  my  thoughts  arose 
Like  Venus  from  the  restless  seas! 

3- 

I conn’d  a scheme,  with  mind  elate : 

My  Uncle’s  land,  which  fell  to  me, 

My  skill  at  College  in  debate, 

Made  fair  my  chance  for  Salisbury : 

This  vantage-ground  once  touch’d  upon 
Thro’  saps  first  labour’d  out  of  sight, 

Far  loftier  peaks  were  lightly  Avon 

By  chamois-leaps  from  height  to  height ; 


The  Regatta. 


149 


And  that  great  honour  partly  paid, 

Or  recognized,  at  least,  in  life, 

Which  this  most  sweet  and  noble  Maid 
Should  yield  to  him  who  call’d  her  Wife. 

4* 

An  end,  then,  to  the  shameful  sloth 
Which  turn’d  her  favour  to  reproof! 

This  very  hour  my  happy  oath 

Should  work  reform : I’d  keep  aloof 
From  love’s  delight;  to  Sarum  Close 
I’d  give  two  evenings  every  week; 

(The  first,  this  evening;)  save  on  those, 

I nought  would  do,  think,  read,  or  speak, 
Which  did  not  help  my  settled  will 
To  earn  my  country’s  just  applause. 

And  now,  forthwith,  to  mend  my  skill 
In  ethics,  politics,  and  laws, 

The  Statesman’s  learning ! Flush’d  with 
power 


15°  The  Regatta. 

And  pride  of  freshly-formed  resolve, 

I read  Helvetius  half-an-hour ; 

But,  halting  in  attempts  to  solve 
Why,  more  than  all  things  else  that  be, 

A maiden’s  grace  hath  force  to  move 
That  sensitive  appetency 

Of  intellectual  good,  call’d  love, 

Took  Blackstone  down,  who  served  to  draw 
My  swift-deriving  thoughts  ere  long 
To  love,  which  is  the  source  of  law, 

And,  like  a king,  can  do  no  wrong. 

I open’d  Hyde,  where  loyal  hearts, 

With  faith  unpropp’d  by  precedent. 
Began  to  play  rebellious  parts : 

O,  mighty  stir  that  little  meant ! 

How  dull  the  crude  plough’d-fields  of  fact 
To  me  who  trod  the  Elysian  grove! 
How  idle  all  heroic  act 

To  the  least  suffering  of  love! 

I could  not  read:  so  took  my  pen, 


The  Regatta. 


151 

And  thus  commenced,  from  former  notes, 
A Lecture  for  the  Salisbury  men, 

With  due  regard  to  Tory  votes: 

“A  road’s  a road,  though  worn  to  ruts: 

“They  speed  who  travel  straight  therein; 
“ But  he  who  tacks  and  tries  short  cuts 
“ Gets  praise  of  fools,  and  breaks  his 
shin  ” — 

And  here  I stopp’d  in  sheer  despair : 

But,  what  to-day  was  thus  begun, 

I vow’d,  back-lounging  in  my  chair, 
To-morrow  should  indeed  be  done; 

Then  loosed  my  chafing  thoughts  from  school, 
To  play  with  fancy  as  they  chose, 

And  then,  to  carry  out  my  rule, 

I dress’d,  and  went  to  Sarum  Close. 

5- 

Ah,  how  she  laugh’d ! Diviner  sense 
Did  Nature,  forming  her,  inspire 


1*2 


The  Regatta. 


To  omit  the  grosser  elements 

And  make  her  all  of  air  and  fire! 
To-morrow,  Cowes’  Regatta  fell: 

The  Dean  would  let  his  daughters  go, 

If  I went  too.  “ With  joy.”  Ah,  well, 
After  July  ’twould  not  be  so! 

After  July  ? Oh,  age  to  wait ! 

Look  where  she  walk’d ! The  Dean 
should  hear 

My  plans:  he  would,  perhaps,  abate 
A month  of  this  eternal  year ! 

“ There’s  much  ” said  he  “ in  what  you  say 
“ Such  schemes  it’s  quite  right  to  defer 
“Till — ” “Do,  Sir,  let  it  be  in  May!” 

“ Well,  go  and  talk  of  it  with  her.” 


X. 


THE  EVE  OF  THE  WEDDING. 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 

The  Meditation. 


l. 

QHE  sits  upon  her  little  bed, 

And  muses  by  the  musing  moon: 

Ere  this  to-morrow  she’ll  be  wed ! 

Ere  this?  Ere  this?  How  strangely  soon! 
An  obvious  blank  of  ignorance 
Lies  full  across  her  forward  way, 

And  shadows,  cast  from  unknown  chance, 
Make  strange  and  dim  the  coming  day. 
She  must  not  muse  too  much ! Vague  fear 
O’erfilms  her  apprehensive  eye; 


156  The  Accompaniments. 


And  she  may  swoon,  with  no  one  near, 
And  haply  so,  unmarried,  die. 

Her  faithless  dread  she  now  discards; 

And  now  remorseful  memory  flings 
Its  glory  round  the  last  regards 

Of  home  and  old  accustom’d  things. 


2. 

Her  father’s  voice,  her  mother’s  eyes 
Accuse  her  treason : all  in  vain 
She  thinks  herself  a wife,  and  tries 
To  comprehend  the  greater  gain: 

Her  unknown  fortune  nothing  cheers 
Her  loving  heart’s  familiar  loss, 

And  torrents  of  repentant  tears 

Their  hot  and  smarting  threshold  cross. 
When  first  within  her  bosom  Love 

Took  birth,  and  beat  his  blissful  wings, 
It  seem’d  to  lift  her  mind  above 
All  care  for  other  earthly  things ; 


The  Accompaniments.  157 

But,  oh,  too  lightly  did  she  vow 
To  leave  for  aye  her  happy  nest; 

And  dreadful  is  the  thought  that  now 
Assaults  her  weak  and  shaken  breast: 

Ah,  should  her  lover’s  love  abate; 

And  should  she,  miserable,  lose 
All  dear  regards  of  maiden  state, 

Dissolved  by  time  and  marriage  dues. 
Once  more  those  sickening  dreams  alloy 
Her  golden  hope  with  nameless  blame : 
But  dread,  she  trusts,  will  turn  to  joy, 

Like  sombre  smoke  to  sudden  flame. 
With  instinct  of  her  ignorance, 

The  simple  virgin’s  veiled  guide, 

She  casts  to  Love  the  reins  of  chance, 

Nor  recks  what  henceforth  shall  betide  ; 
And,  so  determined,  she  collects 
Her  scatter’d  senses,  much  abused 
By  fear,  that  monstrously  reflects 
God’s  order’d  future  all  confused. 


158  The  Accompaniment s. 


And  now  to  rest!  At  day’s  first  gleam 
They’ll  come  to  wake  her  to  her  pride, 
And  wearv  looks  would  ill  beseem 
Her  Lover’s  decorated  Bride. 


The  Accompaniments. 


J59 


II. 

The  Sentences. 


1. 

XT  7 HERE  human  motives  are  enough, 
Divine,  there  misdirected,  fail, 
And  they  but  rock  on  waters  rough 
Whose  winds  of  grace  want  nature’s  sail 


2. 

Kind  souls,  you  wonder  why,  love  you, 
When  you,  you  wonder  why,  love  none : 
We  love,  Sir,  for  the  good  we  do, 

Not  that  which  unto  us  is  done ! 


160  The  Accompaniments. 

3- 

Inevitably  hapless  plight 

Of  mortals ! Hapless  is  the  man 
Who  cannot  act  his  rule  of  right, 
And  still  more  hapless  he  who  can. 


IDYL  IX. 


THE  EVE  OF  THE  WEDDING. 


1. 

SHE  murmur’d,  as  I rose  to  go, 

“ Oh,  Felix,  do  you  love  me  ? 
“ Sweet, 

“ Why  do  you  ask ? ” “I  scarcely  know. 
“Adieu,  then,  till  at  church  we  meet.” 


2. 

And  was  it  no  vain  fantasy 

That  lifted  me  from  earth  with  pride? 
Should  I to-morrow  verily 

Be  Bridegroom,  and  Honoria  Bride  ? 


162  The  Eve  of  the  Wedding. 


Was  I,  in  simple  truth,  henceforth 
To  live  the  sole  and  supreme  lord 
Of  her  whose  smile  for  loftiest  worth 
Were  all  too  bountiful  reward  ? 

To  live  with  her  I worship’d,  chain’d 
By  chains  not  dissolubly  wrought? 

Oh,  bliss  past  all  belief,  it  pain’d 

And  strain’d  the  narrow  house  of  thought 
Patience  and  hope  had  parted  truce, 

And  all  my  thoughts  and  feelings  were 
Like  blinding  mists  driven  up  profuse 
Before  the  Day’s  resplendent  car. 
Incredible  life’s  promise  seem’d, 

Or,  credible,  for  life  too  great : 

Love  his  own  deity  blasphemed, 

And  doff’d  at  last  his  heavenly  state. 
What  force,  if  man  were  placed  so  high, 
To  further  insolence  set  bars, 

And  kept  the  chaste  moon  in  the  sky 
And  bade  him  not  tread  out  the  stars ! 


The  Eve  of  the  Wedding.  163 


3* 

Vague  discontents  awaken’d,  fed 
By  wealth  exceeding  hope  or  aim, 

And  fears,  like  Salamanders,  bred 
In  love’s  so  long  unfaltering  flame. 

Ah,  what  if  time  should  make  us  twain, 

Or  course  of  custom  let  us  run, 

With  undistinguish’d  heart  and  brain, 

Like  neighbouring  dew-drops  into  one? 
Or  what  if  love  were  blind?  Then  she, 
This  maid,  who  now  appear’d  most 
rare, 

When  time  had  taught  my  heart  to 
see, 

Might  prove  less  worshipfully  fair: 

If  not,  then  I,  found  little  worth, 

Might  drop  ridiculously  down 
From  love’s  heroic  height  to  earth, 

And  cast  my  sceptre  and  . my  crown. 


164  The  Eve  of  the  Wedding. 

4* 

In  the  still  dark  the  stable-clock 
Struck,  only  twice,  and,  far  away, 
With  answering  cheer  the  crying  cock 
Rebuked  the  long,  long  lingering  day. 

5- 

What,  should  I thus  neglect  my  pledge 
To  keep  love’s  stately  honour  bright. 
And,  knowing  haste  is  sacrilege 
In  heaven,  at  last  deny  the  right ! 

I told  myself  how  Jacob  paid 
The  patient  price  of  Rachel,  then 
What  reverent  grace  Tobias  said 
To  Sarah’s  innocent  “Amen:” 

’T was  all  in  vain : true  will  was  storm’d 
By  lawless  hope  and  lawless  fear, 

And  fire-mists  of  a world  unform’d 
Hid  from  my  soul  the  azure  clear. 


The  Eve  of  the  JVedding.  165 

6. 

But  Heav’n,  who  often  grants  us  nought, 
Till,  weary,  we  have  ceased  to  ask, 
Absolved  me  now  from  restless  thought, 
And  put  aside  the  cloudy  mask : 

The  self-forgetting  heart  of  love. 

That  seeks  to  give,  not  gain  delight, 
Like  morning  bade  the  mists  remove, 

And  so  once  more  I breathed  aright; 
And  I rehearsed  my  marriage  vow, 

And  swore  her  welfare  to  prefer 
To  all  things,  and  for  aye  as  now 
To  live,  not  for  myself,  but  her. 

Forth,  from  the  glittering  spirit’s  peace 
And  gayety  ineffable, 

Stream’d  to  the  heart  delight  and  ease, 

As  from  an  overflowing  well; 

And,  orderly  deriving  thence 
Its  pleasure  perfect  and  allow’d, 


166  The  Eve  of  the  Wedding. 

Bright  as  the  spirit  shone  the  sense, 

As  with  the  sur  a fleecy  cloud. 

If  now  to  part  with  her  could  make 
Her  pleasure  greater,  sorrow  less, 

I for  my  epitaph  would  take 

“To  serve  seem’d  more  than  to  possess.” 

I well  perceiv’d,  in  vision  sweet 

Which  dazzled  with  bright  dew  mine 
eyes, 

That  love  and  joy  draw  vital  heat 
From  altar  fires  of  sacrifice. 

7- 

The  daylight  up  the  sky  now  crept, 

And  birds  were  garrulous  in  the  grove, 

And  on  my  marriage-morn  I slept 
A soft  sleep,  undisturb’d  by  love. 


XI. 


THE  DEPARTURE. 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 

Womanhood. 

T)E  man’s  hard  virtues  highly  wrought, 
But  let  my  gentle  Mistress  be, 

In  every  look,  word,  deed,  and  thought. 
Nothing  but  sweet  and  womanly! 

Her  virtues  please  my  virtuous  mood, 
But  what  at  all  times  I admire 
Is,  not  that  she  is  wise  or  good, 

But  just  the  thing  which  I desire. 
With  versatility  to  bring 

Her  mental  tone  to  any  strain, 

If  oft’nest  she  is  anything, 

Be  it  thoughtless,  talkative,  and  vain. 


170 


The  Accompaniment a. 


That  seems  in  her  supremest  grace 
Which,  virtue  or  not,  apprises  me 
That  my  familiar  arms  embrace 
Unfathomable  mysWy. 


The  Accompaniments. 


21. 

The  Symbol. 

\ S if  I chafed  the  sparks  from  glass 
And  said,  “It  lightens,”  hitherto 
The  songs  I’ve  made  of  love  may  pass 
For  all  but  for  proportion  true ; 

But  likeness  and  proportion  both 
Hence  fail,  as  if  a child  in  glee, 
Catching  the  flakes  of  the  salt  froth, 

Cried,  “ Look,  my  mother,  here’s  the 
sea.” 

Yet  by  the  help  of  what’s  so  weak, 

But  not  diverse,  to  those  who  know, 
And  only  unto  those  I speak, 

May  far-inferring  fancy  show 


172  The  Accompaniments. 

Love’s  living  sea  by  coasts  uncurb’d, 

It’s  depth,  it’s  mystery,  and  it’s  might, 
It’s  indignation  if  disturb’d, 

The  glittering  peace  of  it’s  delight. 


The  Accompaniments.  173 


III. 

The  Sentences. 

1. 

J^ESPECTS  with  threefold  grace  endue 
The  right  to  be  familiar;  none 
Whose  ways  forget  that  they  are  two 
Perceive  the  bliss  of  being  one. 


2. 

1 vow’d  unvarying  faith ; and  she 
To  whom  in  full  I pay  that  vow, 
Rewards  me  with  variety 

Which  men  who  change  can  never  know. 


174 


The  Accompaniments. 


3- 

“ The  man  seeks  first  to  please  his  wife,” 
Declares  but  not  complains  St.  Paul : 
And  other  loves  have  little  life, 

When  she’s  not  loved  the  most  of  all. 


IDYL  XI. 


THE  DEPARTURE. 


l. 

IFE  smitten  with  a feverish  chill, 

The  brain  too  tired  to  understand. 

In  apathy  of  heart  and  will, 

I took  the  woman  from  the  hand 
Of  him  who  stood  for  God,  and  heard 
Of  Christ,  and  of  the  Church  his  Bride; 
The  Feast,  by  presence  of  the  Lord 
And  his  first  Wonder,  beautified; 

The  mystic  sense  to  Christian  men ; 

The  bonds  in  innocency  made, 


176 


The  Departure. 


And  gravely  to  be  enter’d  then 
For  children,  godliness,  and  aid, 

And  honour’d,  and  kept  free  from  smirch; 

And  how  a man  must  love  his  wife 
No  less  than  Christ  did  love  his  Church, 

If  need  be,  giving  her  his  life: 

And,  vowing  then  the  mutual  vow, 

The  tongue  spake,  but  intention  slept: 
Ah,  well  for  us  Heav’n  asks  not  how 
Such  oaths  are  sworn,  but  how  they’re 
kept ! 

2. 

“ While  Honor’s  changing  ” (said  the  Dean) 
“ Her  bridal  for  her  travelling  dress, 

“ I’ll  preach  allegiance  to  your  Queen. 

“ Preaching’s  the  trade  which  I profess ; 
“And  one  more  minute’s  mine ! You  know 
“ I’ve  paid  my  girl  a father’s  debt, 

“And  this  last  charge  is  all  I owe. 

“ She’s  your’s : but  I love  more  than  yet 


The  Departure. 


1 77 


“You  can:  such  fondness  only  wakes 
“When  time  has  rais’d  the  heart  above 
“ The  prejudice  of  youth,  which  makes 
“ Beauty  conditional  to  love. 

“ Prepare  to  meet  the  weak  alarms 
“ Of  novel  nearness : recollect 
“ The  eye  which  magnifies  her  charms 
“Is  microscopic  to  defect. 

“ You  smile!  You’ll  find  out  much  to  mend, 
“ Though  never  girl,  I think,  had  less ! — 
“Watch,  by  the  way,  or  else  she’ll  spend 
“ T oo  much  in  alms-deeds  and  on  dress. — 
“Her  wealth  is  your  esteem;  beware 
“ Of  finding  fault ; her  will’s  unnerv’d 
“ By  blame ; from  you  ’twould  be  despair ; 

“ But  praise  that’s  only  half  deserv’d 
“Will  all  her  noble  nature  stir 

“To  make  your  utmost  wishes  true. 
“Yet  think,  while  thus  amending  her, 

“ Of  matching  her  ideal  too ! 


12 


178  The  Departure. 

• 

“ Of  perfect  nuptial  joy  the  price 
“ Is  manhood  perfectly  fulfill’d. 

“ Spoilt  with  a palate  feebly  nice, 

“ Or  with  a palsied  holding  spill’d, 

“ The  sweetest  cup  is  lost  on  Sloth. 

“To  keep  your  mistress  in  your  wife 
“ The  way  will  be  to  keep  your  oath, 
“And  honour  her  with  arduous  life. 
“The  women  seldom  break  their  vow: 

“ If  you  pay  your’s,  your  joy  in  her — ” 
But  Mrs.  Fife,  much  flurried,  now 

Whisper’d,  ff  Miss  Honor’s  ready,  Sir.” 

3- 

“ Adieu,  dear,  dear  Papa,  adieu ! 

“To-morrow  I’ll  write.”  “No,  Pet, — ” 
“I  will! 

“You  know  I’m  very,  happy;  and  you, 
“You’ve  Mary  and  Mildred  with  you 
still  ! 


The  Departure. 


l79 


“ Mary,  you’ll  make  Papa  his  tea : 

“No  green,  remember.  Au  revoir! 

“ Only  six  weeks ! How  soon  ’twill  be  ! ” 
Then  on  us  two  they  shut  the  door. 

I,  disconcerted,  tax’d  my  thought 
To  keep  my  Bride  in  countenance, 

But,  whilst  for  words  I vainly  sought, 

Her  voice  released  my  own  from  trance. 
“ Look,  is  not  this  a handsome  shawl  ? ” 
“Yes!”  “Aunt  Maude  gave  it  me.” 
“ How  kind  ! ” 

“ The  new  wing  spoils  Sir  John’s  old  Hall : 
“You’ll  see  it,  if  you  pull  that  blind.” 


XII. 


BY  THE  SEA. 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 

A 'Demonstration. 

\T ATURE,  with  endless  being  rife, 

Parts  each  thing  into  “ him  ” and 
“ her,” 

And,  in  the  arithmetic  of  life, 

The  smallest  unit  is  a pair; 

And  thus,  oh,  strange,  sweet  half  of  me, 
If  I confess  a loftier  flame, 

If  more  I love  high  Heaven  than  thee, 

I more  than  love  thee,  thee  I am; 

And,  if  the  world’s  not  built  of  lies, 

Nor  all  a cheat  the  Gospel  tells ; 


184  The  Accompaniments. 


If  that  which  from  the  dead  shall  rise 
Be  I indeed,  not  something  else, 

There’s  no  position  more  secure 
In  reason  or  in  faith  than  this, 

That  those  conditions  must  endure, 

Which,  wanting,  I myself  should  miss. 


The  Accompaniments. 


iS5 


II. 

The  Amaranth. 

T? EASTS  satiate ; stars  distress  with 
height ; 

Friendship  means  well,  but  misses  reach, 
And  wearies  in  it’s  best  delight, 

Vex’d  with  the  vanities  of  speech ; 

Too  long  regarded,  roses  even 

Afflict  the  mind  with  fond  unrest; 

And  to  converse  direct  with  Heaven 
Is  a great  trouble  in  the  breast: 
Whate’er  the  up-looking  soul  admires, 
Whate’er  the  senses’  banquet  be, 

Fatigues  at  last  with  vain  desires. 

Or  sickens  by  satiety : 


i86 


The  Accompaniments. 


But  truly  my  delight  was  more 
In  her  to  whom  I am  bound  for 
Yesterday  than  the  day  before 
And  more  to-day  than  yesterday. 


The  Accompaniments.  18 


III. 

V %ledictory. 

OHE  whom  the  heavenly  Books  declare 
The  Crown  and  Glory  of  the  man, 
Is  much  too  nearly  dear  my  care 

For  me  with  sequent  thoughts  to  scan : 
From  order  and  the  Muse’s  laws 
What  wonder  if  I fondly  err? 

The  wisest  man  that  ever  was 
Became  a fool  for  love  of  hei. 

In  her  prized  interest  yet  I prove, 

With  words  that  ne’er  shall  be  forgot, 
Such  perfect  friends  are  truth  and  love 
That  neither  lives  where  both  are  not 


i88 


The  Accompaniments. 


Praise,  then,  my  Book  where’er  it  comes, 
Ladies,  whose  innocence  makes  bright 
England,  the  land  of  courtly  homes, 

The  world’s  exemplar  and  delight ! 


The  A ccompanimen ts . 


189 


IV. 

The  Sentences. 

1. 

T3E  not  amaz’d  at  life.  ’Tis  still 

The  mode  of  God  with  his  elect: 
Their  hopes  exactly  to  fulfil, 

In  times  and  ways  they  least  expect. 


2. 

Who  marry  as  they  choose,  and  choose 
Not  as  they  ought,  they  mock  the  Priest, 

And,  leaving  out  obedience,  lose 
The  finest  flavour  of  the  feast. 


190 


The  Accompaniments. 


3- 

Till  Eve  was  brought  to  Adam,  he 
A solitary  desert  trod, 

Though  in  the  great  society 

Of  Nature,  Angels,  and  of  God. 


IDYL  XII. 


BY  THE  SEA. 

l. 

J WHILE  the  shop-girl  fitted  on 
’ The  sand-shoes,  look’d  where,  down 
the  bay, 

The  sea  glow’d  with  a shrouded  sun. 

“I’m  ready,  Felix;  will  you  pay?” 

That  was  my  first  expense  for  this 

Sweet  stranger  whom  I call’d  my  Wife  : 
How  light  the  touches  are  that  kiss 
The  music  from  the  chords  of  life! 


192 


By  the  Sea. 


2. 

Her  feet,  by  half  a mile  of  sea, 

In  spotless  sand,  left  shapely  prints  ; . 

Then,  from  the  beach,  she  loaded  me 
With  agate-stones,  which  turn’d  out  flints ; 
And,  after  that,  we  took  a boat : 

She  wish’d  to  see  the  ships-of-war, 

At  anchor,  each  a lazy  mote 

Dotting  the  brilliance,  miles  from  shore. 

3- 

A vigorous  breeze  the  canvas  fill’d, 

Lifting  us  o’er  the  bright-ridged  gulf, 
And  every  lurch  my  darling  thrill’d 
With  light  fear  smiling  at  itself: 

And,  dashing  past  the  Arrogant, 

Asleep  upon  the  restless  wave 
After  its  cruise  in  the  Levant, 

We  reach’d  the  Wolf;  and  signal  gave 


By  the  Sea. 


J93 


For  help  to  board:  with  caution  meet, 

My  bride  was  placed  within  the  chair, 
The  red-flag  wrapp’d  about  her  feet, 

And  so  swung  laughing  through  the  air. 

4-  . 

“ Look,  Love,”  she  said,  “ there’s  Frederick 
Graham, 

“ My  Cousin,  whom  you  met,  you  know.” 
And,  seeing  us,  the  brave  man  came, 

And  made  his  frank  and  courteous  bow, 
And  gave  my  hand  a sailor’s  shake, 

And  said,  “You  ask’d  me  to  the  Hurst: 
“ I never  thought  my  luck  would  make 
“ You  and  your  wife  my  guests  the  first.” 
And  Honor,  cruel,  “Nor  did  we: 

“ Have  you  not  lately  changed  your 
ship  ? ” 

“Yes:  I’m  commander,  now,”  said  he, 
With  a slight  quiver  of  the  lip. 

J3 


194 


By  the  Sea. 


We  saw  the  vessel,  shown  with  pride ; 

Took  luncheon;  I must  eat  his  salt! 
Parting  he  said,  (I  think  my  bride 
Found  him  unselfish  to  a fault,) 

His  wish  he  saw  had  come  to  pass, 
(And  so,  indeed,, her  face  express’d,) 
That  that  should  be,  whate’er  it  was, 
Which  made  his  Cousin  happiest. 

We  left  him  looking  from  above. 

Rich  bankrupt!  for  he  could  afford 
To  say  most  proudly  that  his  love 
Was  virtue  and  its  own  reward. 

But  others  loved  as  well  as  he, 

(Thought  I,  half-anger’d,)  and,  if  fate, 
Unfair,  had  only  fashion’d  me 
As  hapless,  I had  been  as  great. 

5* 

As  souls,  ambitious,  but  low-born, 

If  greatly  raised  by  luck  or  wit, 


By  the  Sea. 


1 95 


All  pride  of  place  will  proudly  scorn, 
And  live  as  they’d  been  used  to  it. 

So  we  two  wore  our  strange  estate: 

Familiar,  unaffected,  free, 

We  talk’d,  until  the  dusk  grew  late, 

Of  this  and  that;  but,  after  tea, 

As  doubtful  if  a lot  so  sweet 
As  our’s  was  our’s  in  very  sooth, 

Like  children,  to  promote  conceit, 

We  feign’d  that  it  was  not  the  truth; 
And  she  assumed  the  maiden  coy, 

And  I adored  remorseless  charms, 

And  then  we  clapp’d  our  hands  for  joy, 
And  ran  into  each  other’s  arms. 


THE  EPILOGUE. 


THE  EPILOGUE. 


1. 

“T  DID  not  call  you  * Dear  ’ or  ‘ Love,’ 

“ I think,  till  after  Frank  was  born.”  ' 
“ That  fault  I cannot  well  remove ; 

“ The  rhymes  ” — but  Frank  now  blew  his 
horn, 

And  Walter  bark’d,  on  hands  and  knees, 

At  Baby  in  the  mignionette, 

And  all  made,  full  cry,  for  the  trees 
Where  Felix  and  his  wife  were  set. 


200 


The  Epilogue. 


Again  disturb’d,  (crickets  have  cares!) 

True  to  their  annual  use  they  rose, 
To  offer  thanks  at  Evening  Prayers 
In  three  times  sacred  Sarum  Close. 


2. 

They  stopp’d  to  leave  a gift  of  wine 
At  Widow  Neale’s.  Her  daughter  said: 
“ She’s  sinking  fast,  Ma’am ! For  a sign, 

“ She  cried  just  now,  of  him  that’s  dead, 
“ ‘ Mary,  he’s  somewhere  close  above, 

“ ‘ Weeping  and  wailing  his  dead  wife, 

“ ‘ With  forceful  prayers  and  fatal  love 
“ ‘ Conjuring  me  to  come  to  life. 

“ ‘ A spirit  is  terrible  though  dear  ! 

“ ‘ It  comes  by  night,  and  sucks  my 
breath, 

“ ‘ And  draws  me  with  desire  and  fear.’ 

“ Ah,  Ma’am,  she’ll  soon  be  his  in 
death  ! ” 


The  Epilogue. 


201 


3- 

“ O love  makes  death  a dreadful  thought ! 

“ Felix,  at  what  a price  we  live ! ” 

But  present  pleasures  soon  forgot 
The  future’s  dread  alternative ; 

For,  as  became  the  festal  time, 

Vaughan  cheer’d  his  Wife  with  tender 
praise, 

And  speeches  wanting  only  rhyme 
To  make  them  like  his  lofty  lays. 

He  scoff’d  at  mispraised  girlhood : “ What 
“For  sweetness  like  the  ten  years’  wife, 

“ Whose  customary  love  is  not 

“ Her  passion,  or  her  play,  but  life ! 

“ The  best  things  that  the  best  believe 
“Are  in  her  face  so  brightly  writ, 

“ The  faithless,  seeing  her,  conceive 
“Not  only  heaven,  but  hope  of  it. 

“ With  beauties  so  maturely  fair, 
“Affecting,  mild,  and  manifold, 


202 


The  Epilogue. 


“ Can  girlish  charms  no  more  compare 
“ Than  nect’rines  green  with  nect’rines 
gold.” 

4- 

Her  own  and  manhood’s  modesty 

Check’d  praise  of  him,  but,  as  they  rode, 
His  hand  in  her’s  felt  soft  reply, 

And  like  rejoinder  fond  bestow’d. 

5- 

“Dear  Wife,”  said  he,  “A  fresh-lit  fire 
“ Sends  forth  to  heaven  great  shows  of 
fume, 

“And  watchers  far  away  admire; 

“ But,  when  the  flames  their  power 
assume, 

“ The  more  they  burn  the  less  they  show ; 

“ The  clouds  no  longer  smirch  the  sky ; 
“And  then  the  flames  intensest  glow 
“When  far-off  watchers  think  they  die. 


The  Epilogue. 


203 


“The  fumes  of  early  love  my  verse 
“ Hath  figured,  but  to  paint  the  flame 
“Might  merit  the  Promethean  curse, 

“And  is  a task  unknown  to  fame.” — 

“ The  task  you  undertook  was  such : 

“ Do,  Dear,  go  on ! ” and  he  (who  cried, 
“ ‘ I could  not  love  thee,  Muse,  so  much 
“ ‘ Loved  I not  Honor  more ! ”)  complied. 
Then,  as  they  talk’d  of  olden  song, 

“ How  strange,”  said  he,  “ ’twould  seem 
to  meet, 

“ When  walking  without  thought  along 
“A  Florence  or  a Lisbon  street, 

“ That  Laura  or  that  Catherine,  who, 

“ In  the  remote,  romantic  years, 

“From  Petrarch  or  Camoens  drew 

“ Their  verse  and  their  immortal  tears ! ” 
But  here  their  converse  had  it’s  end; 

For,  crossing  the  Cathedral  Lawn, 


204 


The  Epilogue. 


There  came  an  ancient  college-friend, 
Who,  introduced  to  Mrs.  Vaughan, 
Lifted  his  hat,  and  bow’d,  and  smiled, 
And  fill’d  her  handsome  face  with  joy. 
By  patting  on  the  cheek  her  child, 

With,  “ Is  he  your’s,  this  noble  boy  % ” 


END  OF  THE  ESPOUSALS. 


/ 


1 3 U 7 8 9 


( 


r 


Boston  College  Library 

Chestnut  Hill  67,  Mass. 

Books  may  be  kept  for  two  weeks  unless  a 
shorter  period  is  specified. 

Two  cents  a day  is  charged  for  each  2-week  book 
kept  overtime;  25  cents  a day  for  each  overnight 
book. 

If  you  cannot  find  what  you  want,  inquire  at  the 
delivery  desk  for  assistance. 


3-52 


